


What We've Missed

by lipeviez



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Denial, F/F, Fleur too, Hermione is a gay mess, I mentioned angst right?, Missed Connections, Post-War, Romance, acceptance too, starts off kinda funny but mostly it's just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipeviez/pseuds/lipeviez
Summary: Hermione detested failure. She hated entering a new situation where she wasn’t absolutely confident in her abilities to succeed. Dating women was one such new situation. She decided to arrange a no strings encounter but was not prepared for the feelings and memories it dredges up, feelings she thought she’d buried after she lost touch with a certain Frenchwoman.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 224
Kudos: 567





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea for an escort AU/comedy of errors but then it turned into this emotional mess because that’s what I do. Sorry!
> 
> Edit: just wanted to give a heads up that this is indeed a very emotional piece. Lots of tension, unspoken feelings, so much longing and heartbreak in their past, but hopefully still a very satisfying read. I’m very happy I got sidetracked from funny into angsty lol. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Hermione sat nervously, fingering the top edge of her tea cup, waiting for Ginny to speak. She looked around the kitchen of her friend’s house. Ginny and Harry had married and moved in to the cozy cottage in Godric’s Hollow only a year ago. It was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to Grimmauld Place which was their previous residence. They were alone, Harry having been sent on a shopping errand to give the girls time to themselves.

She was tempted to run out. Hermione had gotten used to working alone, thinking about her problems alone, solving her problems alone. Researching this plan over the last couple of months, however, taught her one thing: she was out of her depth. Intelligence and cleverness were not the same as being good with dealing with people or knowing how to get what she wanted without making a public spectacle of herself.

Looking at Ginny, she was beginning to get frustrated by the lack of response, and by the shocked eyes that wouldn’t go away.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” asked Ginny incredulously.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. She really didn’t want to repeat herself. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t spoken about this before. Well, maybe not the hiring of an escort part. But the rest of it was not news. Books weren’t enough to make her feel confident about this. She needed experience, as it were, in the field.

“Ginny, you heard me.”

“I know you’ve wanted to get a notch on your bedpost before trying for the whole relationship thing with women but I thought you were just talking about hitting up a club and taking some random woman back to yours.”

“That would be too messy. The pressure to… perform… would be too much.”

“Hey, there are lots of witches out there who would love to be the one to show you the ropes.”

“Witches who know who I am, expectations, feelings… No. I don’t want any of that. Professional. Distant. Someone who doesn’t care about the whole Golden Girl thing when she looks at me. It has to be someone that will see it as the detached transaction that it is.”

Ginny furrowed her brow and Hermione watched her friend absorb everything. She could see that Ginny had moved past the shock of it and was now thinking of how to help make it happen.

“I suppose there are plenty of muggle escort services to look into.”

“I thought about that. No muggles,” Hermione said, looking down and blushing. “My magic, it’s hard to control sometimes when I… get excited… There’s a bit of a glow.”

Ginny laughed. “Ron never mentioned that.”

Hermione frowned. “Ron doesn’t know.” She stared at her friend who quickly realized what that implied. Hermione inwardly cringed. She hadn’t meant to bring Ron into the conversation. But Ginny was her friend. Her only close female friend. She had no one else to talk to about this with.

“My brother is clueless.”

She released a long breath. “I wasn’t exactly a helpful wife in that regard. And then when I realized why that was… well, you know what happened after that.”

Hermione pursed her lips and gazed out the window. She had really messed things up when she married Ron three years ago. After the war, it was like she put thinking in a locked box while she went through the motions of what everyone expected of her. Finished up her education at Hogwarts. Got a job at the Ministry of Magic and realized how hard it was to get to know people who only saw her as part of the Golden Trio and a hero. Ron was annoyingly persistent but steady. Familiar. He was a good person and had gone through a lot of the things she’d gone through in the war. And everyone else seemed to be pairing up permanently, like Harry and Ginny. Hermione told herself they could be happy and to ignore these other feelings that never quite went away. When Ron proposed, she said yes as a matter of course, submitting to the inevitability of it. The first year was pleasant enough but there was only so much faking happiness she could do. Then, having finally accepted that she was gay, she divorced Ron. It had been finalized six months ago and she was now sitting in a kitchen confessing to her friend Ginny that she never had an orgasm with her husband. She prayed Ginny wouldn’t ask how she knew that about her magic when excited. Hermione was close with Ginny but were they ‘sharing masturbatory experiences’ close? No.

There was a period of time when Hermione literally had no one to talk to. A lot of denial and guilt made her try to salvage her struggling marriage but for the longest time she didn’t have the courage to tell Ron what was really happening with her and why they could never work. And she was ashamed that her relationship was failing while others flourished. But after the separation and after months of staying away from the Potters, she began to reach out again. The effort took a toll on Hermione. Ron was still a presence in her friends’ lives, and they were still figuring out how to make that work. He gave her space and tried to make sure she had time with her friends without him around but she could tell it was still awkward for Harry. Thankfully Ginny was a force of nature and never made her feel guilty for what happened with Ron. Ginny had always knocked sense into everyone when they got too caught up in their own shit, and Hermione loved her for it.

“Right. So, no muggles,” replied Ginny, clearing her voice as if to clear away thoughts of her brother. “A witch. High-end, I should think. You’ll want discretion, given who you are.”

“And a reputable agency or whatever they’re called. Paying for… well… I need to know without a doubt there’s no coercion involved. She needs to be a fully consenting adult.”

Ginny nodded.

“I can make some inquiries…”

“No. I couldn’t ask you to do that. I… was just hoping you might have an idea of how I can go about this and who to call. I know how to make calls; this is for me after all.”

“Yeah but you’re famous. We can better hide your identity in whatever paper trail gets created if I’m the one who makes the arrangements.”

“And what if it gets traced to you instead? You’re a married woman. Married to the Boy Who Lived, I might add. The scandal would be tremendous.”

“I can handle it. I’ll just say Harry and I are the adventurous sort.”

The two of them giggled. Smiling at her friend, Hermione felt her nerves calm. She was glad she had confided in Ginny.

“Preferences on what you want her to look like?”

“What? Erm, no. Attractive, I guess?” Hermione blustered, trying to avoid thinking about the image of the woman that came to mind at Ginny’s question.

“You’re going to be paying through the nose, at least be with someone who fits the type of woman you like.”

“Ginny…”

“Hermione…”

Hermione chuckled and then bit her lip. Her friend was right, of course. Maybe this first experience could be the way to get rid of these thoughts forever. But then Ginny would know. Because there was no type, just a woman. A woman they both knew.

She took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge.

“Blue eyes. Blonde.”

“All right. That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Experience with women. Smart. About my height, maybe slightly taller. Slim. About my age, maybe a couple of years older.”

Ginny nodded along, making mental notes.

Hermione swallowed and looked down. “French… and…” _Oh Merlin, can I really say it? Ginny will know! She’ll know!_

She panicked and looked up. Ginny tilted her head as realization came over her. Her friend leaned forward and whispered.

“And Veela?”

_Oh fuck_ , Hermione thought, her heart pounding. She blinked rapidly and sat up straight, looking at anything except Ginny. Maybe she could fake an emergency and disapparate right there.

Fleur Delacour had come a long way from being thought of as Phlegm in Ginny’s eyes and Hermione had helped with that. After she’d been tortured, after what Fleur did for her in Shell Cottage, Hermione and Fleur formed a close friendship. When they won the war, she made it her mission to improve Fleur’s standing with Molly Weasley and Ginny. Things had improved so much, Ginny and Fleur had formed a friendship of their own, keeping in touch even after Fleur and Bill divorced. That her own friendship with the Veela had become strained and then non-existent was another story, and one she refused to dwell on at this very moment.

Ginny reached for her hand and squeezed tightly.

“You could just ask her out. We don’t talk as often as we used to but the last I heard, she was single,” said Ginny gently.

Hermione’s heart raced in anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to see Fleur. Not after what happened, not after all this time. Not when she’d finally managed to stop thinking about her every day. She’d been doing so well with once per week.

“No! Do not suggest that again, Ginevra Potter. And you are sworn to secrecy! You can’t tell anyone about this. Not her, not Harry. No one.”

“Fine,” huffed Ginny. “I promise not to talk about this with anyone other than who I need to in order to make this fantasy of yours happen.”

Hermione grumbled. “It’s not a fantasy.”

Ginny laughed and her eyes sparkled. If Hermione hadn’t been so distressed at her friend now knowing about her attraction to Fleur Delacour, she would’ve been suspicious of her expression.

“Just so you know, it might take a while to arrange, especially given your list of preferences. A high-end, French Veela escort is a pretty tall order.”

“She doesn’t have to be Veela,” conceded Hermione, now wishing she hadn’t said anything at all.

“No, no, you can’t back out now. If she’s out there, I’ll find her for you. I’ll let you know when arrangements are made.”

Hermione sighed. “Thanks, Ginny.”

*::::*

Five weeks later, Hermione found herself in the suite of a top-tier muggle hotel in London, waiting for her guest to arrive. True to her word, Ginny had made all the arrangements, surprisingly saying she was able to fulfill all of her preferences. She had checked in under the name Monica Grey. That was only for hotel staff. Hermione had no delusions about hiding her identity from a witch who ran in upper crust social circles. She just hoped the promise of discretion wasn’t an empty one.

It was around five minutes until nine o’clock at night, five minutes until she arrived, and Hermione nervously paced the room, clutching a gin and tonic in her hand, the ice having long melted. Soft music played on the small stereo next to the television. She had spent the last two hours debating on what to wear and eventually decided on a cream colored, long-sleeve, silk blouse and a charcoal gray pencil skirt that went down to her knees. Footwear gave her the most trouble and at the last second, she decided comfort was more important and settled on black ballet flats. Her hair was loose in soft waves that reached just below her shoulders. A light touch of eye makeup and rose-colored lipstick and she was ready. Hermione wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to impress her guest; it’s not as if it mattered what she looked like given she was paying for this but she wanted to at least look enticing.

A knock on the door stopped Hermione’s pacing. She quickly downed the remnants of her drink and set the glass on the table, glancing at the various plates that room service had brought up fifteen minutes ago. It was way past dinnertime but she ordered wine and an assortment of fruits, cheeses, breads, and cold meats in case her date wanted some refreshment after some of their planned… activities.

She took a deep breath and calmed herself. This was what she wanted. Hermione had meticulously planned and prepared for this night by reading as much as she could, and even watching some erotic movies. The woman on the other side of that door was a professional and would answer all of her questions and refrain from judging her inexperience and naivete. She would enjoy herself and hopefully be able to do the same for her companion. And even if Hermione changed her mind about engaging in a physical encounter, at the very least she would be able to receive some verbal instruction from a woman who knew what she was doing.

Hermione started to feel butterflies in her stomach and a hint of arousal. It felt good to be excited about physical intimacy instead of dreading it. Flattening her hands across her abdomen, she smiled to herself, but then a horrible thought crossed her mind. This woman fit all the of the characteristics she’d given Ginny. A French Veela. What if she knew Fleur? Or knew of her?

Her eyes widened and the pit in her stomach grew even larger. Wasn’t she doing exactly what Fleur had told her she’d always hated? How people only lusted after her, objectified her, saw her as nothing more than a plaything?

She had to stop this.

There was a stronger knock on the door.

Hermione grasped the door handle, turned it, and began to say, “I’m sorry, I think I made a m–“

Her heart stopped and the embarrassed smile froze on her face as she stared into familiar blue eyes. Eyes that had always seen right through her. Eyes that currently looked at her in amusement.

Hermione’s throat went dry and for a split second, she thought about shutting the door. But it was too late.

Through all the confused feelings that battled within her, she knew one thing for sure.

She was going to kill Ginny.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case some were wondering, no, there are no Veela mates in this story. And I mainly use book canon as the story's background except for the scar on Hermione's arm because I like that little movie addition.

Chapter 2

_It was early in the morning. The sun had just come up and Hermione was outside standing on a dune, looking at the sea and the dawn. The wind whipped her hair, and even with it tied back, she knew she would have quite the time brushing it out later. But right now, she didn’t care. It was the first morning she felt well enough to step outside of Shell Cottage on her own and she enjoyed the solitude, even if it was colder than she would have liked._

_Then she felt it. The warmth that blanketed her as she heard chuffs through the sand approaching her._

_“I was sure I had more time to myself,” chuckled Hermione, not looking behind her._

_The chuffing sounds stopped._

_Hermione could feel the warmth shift to indecision. She liked feeling it. She liked that she was one of the few who could._

_“It’s okay, Fleur. Please join me,” Hermione said softly._

_And then it was warmth again as Fleur finished her approach and stood beside her. When she’d first arrived to Shell Cottage, in pain and broken, Fleur shared many things about her background and about the Veela. Stories, history, family jokes. They were meant as a distraction, something to take her mind off the awful marks on her body, the word carved into her arm. One of these things was how a Veela’s thrall was not felt in the same way by everyone. Some, mainly those not attracted to women, did not feel it at all. Most of those who were attracted to women felt an allure in varying degrees ranging from faint attraction to overwhelming need. Frequent exposure, as well as strength of mind, dulled this response over time. And there were also those few who could feel it as Hermione felt it: an extension of Fleur’s emotional state._

_To Hermione, Fleur’s thrall was almost a physical entity but she didn’t always feel it. She understood this to mean that when she did, it meant Fleur wanted to be open, that she was trying to be herself around her. When Fleur was feeling closed-off or she put a tight rein over her thrall, Hermione could feel next to nothing. Fleur didn’t always have this control. During her fourth year at Hogwarts, Fleur’s thrall felt wild. Even with that icy façade, Hermione could feel it bubbling underneath, though she never said anything about it to her friends. It annoyed her to no end how it affected Ron and the other students. She’d preferred to focus on keeping Harry alive. But apparently control came as Fleur matured. Hermione couldn’t always pin down exactly what it was that Fleur was feeling, positive feelings were generally warm and negative feelings were generally cold, but she was getting better at interpreting her facial expressions coupled with the thrall. In observing the other occupants of the cottage, it seemed the only ones who felt Fleur’s thrall in this way were her and Luna Lovegood. Not even Bill could feel this part of his wife and for some reason this made Hermione happy. She wasn’t quite sure why._

_After a long time standing together in silence, Fleur put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione quickly raised the hand of the arm opposite of the one being touched and gripped Fleur’s hand, pressing it tighter against her shoulder. She was scared. There was still so much danger ahead. Yet feeling Fleur’s touch comforted her. Until she’d come under Fleur’s care, the blonde had practically been a stranger. Now Hermione couldn’t imagine a day without her being near._

_“You will be fine, ‘Ermione Granger,” murmured Fleur._

_And even though there was still the horcrux hunt and the plan to break into Gringotts, Hermione believed her._

Hermione continued to stare indecisively at the woman who’d knocked on her hotel door.

Fleur Delacour.

What was she doing here?

Her blue eyes were dancing with mischief. The slightest smirk teased the corner of her mouth.

And she was still so goddamned beautiful.

Hermione was also put on edge by Fleur’s thrall. Instead of covering her in warmth and affection like it had done in the past, it was hesitant. It reached out and pulled back, and then repeated the cycle. There was that infuriating amusement on Fleur’s face but there was also something else, something she couldn’t place.

She knew Fleur was waiting for Hermione to say something. Something absurd, something so typically Hermione Granger, like launch into a rambling tirade about making a mistake or an explanation for why this wasn’t what it looked like. Any number of things that would make Hermione look like a fool and reveal her humiliation about what she had been expecting to happen tonight.

But she was done with being a fool in front of Fleur. Hermione stoked the embers of her long-dimmed fury over their ended friendship, over Fleur’s refusal to answer her letters as her marriage was falling apart, and let it fuel a resolve to treat Fleur as the night’s hire that she was, which may not have been true. There were many reasons why Fleur had knocked on her door. In this moment, however, she wasn’t feeling rational.

“Hello, Fleur. I wasn’t expecting you but I trust you’ve been briefed on tonight’s purpose?”

Hermione was very proud of the tone she used. Neutral, business-like, with a dash of coldness.

For some inexplicable reason, and it was so fast that she almost didn’t see it, Fleur’s face fell. The expression was quickly replaced by that icy exterior Hermione had known all those years ago but if she didn’t know any better, she would say it had looked like disappointment. Her thrall had withdrawn so Hermione couldn’t be sure but it was puzzling. There was no time to dwell, unfortunately. Hermione may not have a thrall to control but she still had emotions and they were going haywire.

Fleur gave a curt nod and Hermione stepped aside, letting her into the room. As the blonde walked by, Hermione inhaled the soft perfume and closed her eyes, remembering how the citrusy floral scent had always made her feel in the past. Her hand gripped the door, so tempted to apparate away, to escape this mortifying moment where Fleur knew she’d hired someone to have sex with.

But unlike Fleur, she wasn’t a coward.

Hermione closed the door and engaged the lock. Then in a bit of wandless magic, she set locking and silencing wards.

The blonde looked around the suite, taking a passing glance at the king size bed on the far right of the room, and walked straight ahead to the sofa, setting her handbag on the floor next to the coffee table before sitting down. Hermione watched her take a bracing breath and then turn to look at her.

Normally Hermione would do all she could to make the Veela smile. But now, she silently took in Fleur’s appearance. She was dressed in a dark blue pants suit, the material probably a high-quality wool, and if not for the four-inch heels it looked like Fleur was dressed for the office and not a date. The jacket seemed to flow over Fleur’s upper body as if it were a shawl. It was elegant. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun and she wore hardly any makeup. Maybe some liner on the eyes but that was it. This only made Fleur more beautiful in Hermione’s eyes. She liked seeing the unmasked skin of her face, the true color of her lips. Fleur looked gaunt compared to the last time she saw her, the lines of her jaw and nose looking sharper, sterner, and yet they still seemed just as delicate as they ever were.

Hermione scoffed and began pacing again. Her mind finally allowed itself to race through the possibilities of why she was here.

The obvious scenario was that Ginny had contacted Fleur directly and sent her here tonight. Fleur had nodded before walking in which meant she definitely knew _why_ Hermione was in this hotel room. But that she had come at all… was that an agreement to fulfill the transaction? Or was she here to make fun of her? There was a thread here that Hermione was terrified of pulling. She decided to ignore it for now.

Less obvious: Fleur was an actual escort and she was the only French Veela at the agency Ginny contacted. It had been eighteen months since she’d last seen her and during the couple of years before that, their friendship, their wonderful friendship that had meant everything to Hermione, had faded away. Anything could’ve happened in that time period. But if she was an actual escort, when did it happen? Why? Did Fleur need help?

What if Fleur wasn’t an escort but had agreed to Ginny’s proposal because she was in need?

What if, what if…

Hermione continued to pace and glare at Fleur now and then, trying to figure it out. She could’ve asked. She _should’ve_ asked. But she was still so angry. At one particularly long glare, Fleur cleared her throat and tilted her head.

“Are you done looking?”

“And now you speak to me,” Hermione spat out.

She watched how her words lashed across Fleur’s face. The guilt and shame. It made Hermione furious. It made her remember things she tried so hard to forget.

_It was the last of the funerals for the fallen at the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione didn’t think she could take any more sadness and walked away before all the eulogies had been spoken. As the other ones had been, this funeral was held on school grounds in the Great Hall, and Hermione wandered amongst the wreckage. She knew she was going back to finish her final year, which was why she kept walking, kept forcing herself to look at everything before they finished cleaning it all up. She wandered until she couldn’t stand being inside the castle any longer and she found herself outside near the Black Lake. Staring out at the water, she didn’t notice that she had company until a soft hand took hers._

_Turning her head, she smiled. It was Fleur. And she was so happy to see her. So happy it brought tears to her eyes._

_“You will be fine, ‘Ermione Granger,” said Fleur softly._

_Hermione nodded, remembering how Fleur had said this to her on the dunes and other times at Shell Cottage._

_“How do you know?”_

_“I just know.”_

_“Can we keep in touch? I’m sure we’ll see each other at the Burrow but I’d also like us to be friends. Real friends.”_

_“Oui, I would like that very much,” replied Fleur, squeezing her hand_.

Hermione had written. Countless letters. Telling her about her trip to Australia, about finding her parents and undoing the memory charm but that they struggled with understanding why she did what she did. She wrote about school, how disconnected she felt. Hermione confided in her about Ron and her lack of enthusiasm for the relationship. Fleur wrote back, hardly ever sharing about her life with Bill, mostly offering observations on what Hermione left out of her letters and soothing her worries.

When they had seen each other at the Burrow, Hermione included her in all her conversations with Ginny. She reminded Molly as often as she could about how Fleur was the one that helped her recover after she’d been hurt. Hermione could see how these efforts paid off, how Fleur became more accepted by the Weasley women. It bothered her how Bill had made none of these efforts, how he left it all to Fleur to work through. He was a nice man and never treated Fleur badly but it never occurred to him that he could do more to help his wife be part of the family.

Often times, she and Fleur would take walks to escape the Burrow and its chaos. They would hold hands or link arms. Being held by Fleur always made Hermione feel warm, the thrall surrounding the two of them making it as if they were the only people in the world. Her heart would race and she would blush at Fleur’s glances and teases. Hermione didn’t know why Fleur made her feel that way but she liked it. She liked it a lot. When she started working at the Ministry, she and Fleur would often meet up during lunch or after work. Their talks would last hours sometimes; they would converse about their work and life, the unfair laws that favored purebloods, the mistreatment of magical creatures, their dreams for a quiet, peaceful life. Again, Fleur rarely discussed Bill or her marriage and Hermione didn’t feel comfortable asking. Hermione also stopped talking about Ron. It didn’t seem right to include him in those precious moments with Fleur. Those moments were theirs and theirs alone.

Things changed when she became engaged to Ron. Fleur became more distant. She made excuses over missed lunches or unanswered letters. At family get-togethers at the Burrow, Fleur was able to avoid Hermione without making it look like she was avoiding her. Some chit-chat here and there but she wouldn’t take walks with her anymore. Fleur wouldn’t be alone with her anymore.

_“Has she said anything about me, Ginny?” Hermione asked. They were at a dress shop, looking at wedding dresses._

_Ginny bit her lip and seemed to think over her response. “Occasionally. Mostly about your wedding and how busy I am as maid of honor.”_

_“Is she mad at me? I feel like we haven’t spoken in ages. It’s frustrating… I miss her,” Hermione said, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Her heart felt like it ached in how much she missed Fleur. She didn’t know why it hurt so much but she felt like she was missing something. Something was happening and it was going over her head._

_“She and Bill are having issues. I can’t go into more than that but things aren’t looking good. You can’t tell her I told you, though.”_

_“Right,” Hermione said softly, feeling guilty. If Fleur was having marital problems, then she would stop being so selfish and try to be there for her friend in whatever way she needed._

Things only got worse. Fleur stopped coming to the Burrow. Bill was now the one making excuses for his wife and with every missed opportunity to see her friend, Hermione sank further into sadness. On her wedding day, Bill arrived saying that a work trip came up unexpectedly for Fleur. It was the latest blow to her heart and Hermione felt abandoned. And angry.

Transitory glimpses of the Veela over the next eighteen months after her wedding hardened Hermione even further. She stopped writing to her. She stopped asking Ginny for updates. Hermione focused her attentions on work and her marriage but over that first year she started to notice things that she’d previously kept blinders on over. It was only in Fleur’s absence that she could see how she’d used their friendship to satisfy what Ron couldn’t. And it was so glaringly obvious, Hermione didn’t know how she’d missed it. She and Ron just weren’t compatible. As nice and thoughtful as he tried to be, he had no patience or interest to discuss the things that interested her. He didn’t like how she could get lost in research for hours on a weekend instead of spending the free time with him. Sex was infrequent and unsatisfying. Ron was able to keep up a good front with her that first year, which allowed her to try to bury the doubts and unhappiness that had grown but he caught on after a disastrous attempt at romance on their first anniversary. The next six months were brutal. They frequently fought over what he needed and wanted. Some of Ron’s expectations were unreasonable but Hermione had to admit, some of them weren’t. And it never occurred to her to demand from him what she’d been able to so easily get from her friendship with Fleur.

It wasn’t until a New Year’s Eve party at the Burrow that Hermione began to realize why that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It went from hilarity to something more painful. It's just where the story took me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick blurb before you jump into the chapter. To fleurmione writers and anyone looking to create content for our favorite magical duo, Fleurmione Week 2020 will start Sept 3. Seven days of prompts and I'm hoping to do at least two of them. Use the #FleurmioneWeek2020 tag. More details at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/fleurmioneweek
> 
> Thanks!

Chapter 3

Hermione stopped her pacing, threw up her hands, and growled in frustration. She probably looked like a madwoman. A sexually frustrated madwoman. Glancing over at Fleur, she noticed how the Veela was biting the inside of her lower lip, trying to keep a straight face. Somehow the expression took the wind out of her sails. It was annoying, and cute, and did irritating things to her chest.

 _Ginny, you better be on the other side of the planet right now_ , she thought vengefully.

She huffed and sat down on the couch, making sure to be on the opposite end far from Fleur.

“’Ermione…” started Fleur.

“Please, not yet,” interrupted Hermione, her voice small. “I just… need another moment.”

Hermione closed her eyes and turned away from Fleur, that New Year’s Eve party still invading her thoughts. She tried to push it away, as she’d done so many times before, but it was no use. Having Fleur here, feeling that inscrutable gaze again, she couldn’t contain the memory fighting to be remembered.

_“Mione! We’re going to be late!”_

_Ron called to her from downstairs and Hermione rolled her eyes as she pulled on a black cardigan. Seven o’clock seemed a little early for the start of a New Year’s Eve party but Molly liked it when her children arrived early. Hermione didn’t really want to go to the Burrow, and had taken a longer time than she’d needed to pick out a white fitted t-shirt and faded blue jeans. The probability of a certain blonde being there was high and she was tired of pretending indifference whenever they were in each other’s presence._

_Maybe she could get out of going._

_Walking downstairs, Ron was waiting for her at the door._

_“Ron… what if I don’t go? I’m sure you’ll have much more fun without me there.”_

_He sighed and replied, “Come on, love. You haven’t been to the house the last several weekends. The family misses you and tonight will be great. I heard Luna will be there and she’s always good for a laugh.”_

_Hermione looked up at his pleading eyes and gave a half-hearted smile. They’d been having a good couple of weeks, only minor arguments here and there. And he’d finally agreed to see a muggle couple’s counselor with her, one who was aware of the wizarding world so they wouldn’t have to lie about who they were, and who they were set to see in the middle of January. To start a fight over a party would ruin this peace and be more trouble than it was worth._

_They arrived at the party, hands clasped together as if there was nothing wrong between them at all. She happily greeted Harry and Ginny, received bone crushing hugs from Arthur and Molly, and did her best to be cheerful with every in-law and party-goer even as Ron hovered over her, smothering her with his need to show everyone that they were together and in marital bliss. Hermione could barely stomach the lie nowadays but she reminded herself that counseling awaited them and not to cause any trouble._

_A couple of hours passed and she was sitting on a couch, navigating a conversation with Luna, trying to sound interested but mostly just trying to avoid Ron who didn’t have any patience around the girl. It made Luna the perfect companion for the rest of the evening._

_And then Bill and Fleur arrived. It had been a few months since she’d last seen the Veela, when they both acted as if they were strangers. They’d barely greeted each other over a family breakfast and ignored each other the rest of the time. Tonight, however, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the blonde._

_Hermione watched Fleur quickly walk over to the table with the punch bowl, leaving her husband behind without a word. It was very clear to Hermione that things were strained between the couple. She wondered how bad it really was. Not that she had any idea. Ginny mentioned it that one time in the dress shop and wouldn’t answer any of her questions about it after that._

_Fleur downed one drink and then poured herself another, downing that one as well. Ron and George had spiked it earlier and it was very strong. Hermione thought the Veela looked frayed around the edges, like she was on the brink of coming apart at any moment. She had never seen Fleur that way before and it was unsettling. Pouring one more, the Frenchwoman then raised her eyes to take in the room. When her eyes fell on Hermione, Fleur smiled. It had been so long since the woman had smiled at her like that and it was like the sun had broken through the storm clouds of Hermione’s heart, warming her, filling her up with a happiness she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. And if the thrall she felt was anything to judge by, Fleur was happy to see her, too._

_As if there had been no time apart at all, she went over to Hermione and reached out her hand, pulling her away from Luna. She stood up without a word but then remembered herself._

_Turning to Luna, she opened her mouth but Luna beat her to it and said, “See? They do have a way of coming back to us. I think I’ll go find Ginny now. Good to see you both.”_

_Hermione stared after her as she walked away but her focus was pulled back to Fleur by a tug on her hand._

_She remained by Fleur’s side as they chatted with each other and with different party guests. They didn’t speak about why she had been distant or why she was being so friendly now but Hermione didn’t care. She had Fleur’s attention again and she didn’t want to waste it on arguing._

_At one point, Ron tried to insert himself between the two._

_“Fleur, I think your husband was looking for you.”_

_Hermione winced, not liking the smell of firewhisky on his breath or the tone of his voice. Why did he always have to be so possessive?_

_The blonde laughed, and there was a hard edge to it that Hermione inwardly questioned. She could feel Fleur’s thrall roil in cold waves. Annoyance? Undoubtedly. But there was something else, some part of the thrall that almost felt like it was pulling Hermione closer to her._

_It got stronger when Fleur spoke to him. “Your brother will ‘ave to wait. I am catching up with my friend tonight. Come ‘Ermione.”_

_Fleur grabbed her arm, flipped her hair, and pulled her away. Hermione felt bad at the rudeness to Ron but at the same time, Fleur had just said she was her friend and it sparked hope in her chest. The brunette wanted things to go back to the way they were more than anything. The older woman guided them to the punch bowl and poured three drinks._

_“That punch is strong, Fleur. You’ve already had quite a bit and I don’t think I should have any,” argued Hermione as Fleur pushed a cup in her hand._

_“Vraiment, ‘Ermione, c’est ridicule,” tutted Fleur. “My tolerance is incredibly ‘igh and you need to catch up. One should do it for you.”_

_Hermione giggled. “Are you saying I’m a lightweight?”_

_Feeling challenged, Hermione slowly drank all of her punch in one go._

_“Not ‘aving ‘ad the pleasure of ‘olding you up against a wall, I cannot say for sure,” replied Fleur quietly with a sly smile._

_They maintained eye contact as the blush burned up Hermione’s neck. The moment ended when Angelina Johnson and her friends needed to get to the punch bowl._

_Fleur quickly drank her two drinks, then grabbed Hermione’s hand and dragged her through the crowded room. The Veela looked put out, shaking her head and muttering to herself. Worried, Hermione tightened her grip on her hand and pulled her in a different direction._

_When they reached a quiet corner, Hermione asked, “Fleur, is everything all right? You seem out of sorts.”_

_The Veela tilted her head and smiled, having slipped her mask back on once more. “So serious, ma chérie. It’s a party, non?”_

_Hermione opened her mouth, knowing she should push Fleur to share what was on her mind, but then the blonde pressed a finger to her lips and stepped closer._

_“Please, ‘Ermione,” begged Fleur, her carefree expression now serious and pained. “I know I ‘ave no right to ask, especially not to you. I just want a good night for once.”_

_Fleur softly dragged her finger down, slightly tugging Hermione’s lower lip with her fingernail before pulling her hand away, which made Hermione’s stomach flip. The feeling was disconcerting and new and scary. It was like a previously unknown, invisible wall in front of her eyes had begun to flutter like a veil or curtain, moving as wildly as her pulse, the edge of it in reach._

_What would she see if she pulled it away?_

_The blonde swallowed and stepped back, looking like she was about to bolt, and Hermione began to panic. Was Fleur going to leave?_

_Hermione stepped forward and reached for Fleur’s hands, pulling her back._

_“Okay! A good night,” hurried Hermione in agreement._

_Fleur stood straighter and flashed a bright smile. A little too bright. It was another red flag that Hermione chose to overlook that night for the promise of closeness with a friend she didn’t want to lose._

_For the next two hours, they held hands, linked arms, frequently touched each other and placed soft hands on each other’s lower backs as they passed and caught up with different people. Fleur would lean in to whisper a funny observation about the party, her lips brushing against Hermione’s ear and sending shivers down her spine. Fleur flirted, harmlessly of course, because how could it be anything else? She was married. They both were. But Hermione surprised herself by responding in kind._

_It was perfect._

_When it was close to midnight, they were outside, alone, looking up at the stars and saying nothing but also seeming to say everything. Hermione felt dusted off and made new. Like the person she was meant to be. Where she’d previously been drawn into herself, tight and hidden, now she was unfolded, stiff and out of practice at being seen in such a way but it was still liberating, and so very intoxicating. More so than that spiked punch inside the house. More than anything else had been able to make her feel in her whole life._

_She didn’t want it to end._

_Tears filled Hermione’s eyes. She turned her head slightly to watch Fleur who was still gazing up at the stars. She turned back to the sky, unsure whether now was the time to break the comfortable silence, this agreement to ignore the last two years. But she had so many questions, so many things she needed to know._

Why now? Where have you been? Why did you leave me and let me forget what this felt like?

_Hermione felt the thrall begin to unwrap itself from around her. Still there but guarded, as if Fleur had sensed her conflicted thoughts._

_When Hermione looked again, she saw how fragile the blonde looked, like she knew what she had done. And how could she not know? Fleur had ripped herself out of Hermione’s life without warning or explanation._

_The clock struck twelve._

_Instead of speaking, Fleur pulled her to the side of the house, out of sight of party stragglers who wandered out the front door, boisterously yelling and shooting off fireworks into the air with their wands._

_Hermione tried to speak but Fleur silenced her with a tight embrace. She was surrounded by the other woman’s scent, her thrall offering solace and an apology. Part of her wanted to accept without upsetting the delicate friendship that they had hopefully rebuilt tonight. The other part of her still wanted answers._

_“’Appy New Year, mon coeur. I’ve missed you so much,” Fleur whispered as she squeezed her arms more tightly around her._

_“I’ve missed you, too, Fleur. You have no idea how much… how much I’ve needed you,” whispered Hermione, her nose buried in Fleur’s neck._

_Fleur pulled back, brushing a strand of hair over Hermione’s ear. Hermione’s heart was beating so fast but time seemed to slow as her eyes darted towards Fleur’s lips. And Fleur’s did the same to hers._

_It was midnight. She could lean forward and ring in the new year in the way so many other friends do. But that would be a lie. The curtain was finally pulled back and Hermione saw everything. What her friendship with Fleur had meant to her, what she had felt and still felt for her, and what she didn’t feel for Ron. If she leaned forward, it would not be an innocent celebratory act._

_But before she could do anything, a stricken Fleur pulled out of her arms. Hermione opened her mouth to speak but then she heard Ron’s voice. Turning to the house, she heard him drunkenly calling out for his wife so they could kiss like they were supposed to. She grimaced and turned back to Fleur but she wasn’t there. The brunette hurried to the front of the house and she glimpsed blonde hair disappearing inside. Suddenly worried, she ran after her. Unfortunately, as soon as she entered the house Ron grabbed her and planted a long kiss on her mouth. Hermione struggled to pull away without making it seem like she was rejecting him. That would only lead to a fight later. When she finally got away from him, she couldn’t find Fleur anywhere. She’d left._

That had been the last time she’d seen Fleur.

Until tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. I promise the next chapter will have an actual conversation between them. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Hermione brought her hands to her face, then ran them over her head and through her hair, recalling the aftermath of that party.

Letters to Fleur had gone unanswered. She did not confess her feelings in them but they did hint at her marriage troubles and she wanted Fleur to meet with her. Hermione wanted to say the words in person, she wanted to see the look in Fleur’s eyes when she revealed her heart. An unannounced visit to Shell Cottage was met by an unkempt Bill at the door explaining how Fleur was visiting family. A month after the party, she’d heard Fleur had quit her job at Gringotts and moved back to France; she and Bill had separated and would soon divorce. Hermione felt empty at the loss and at how Fleur hadn’t said goodbye. It was like what happened after her wedding all over again. Only instead of having a new marriage to distract her, there was this path of self-discovery which she couldn’t ignore. She needed to explore it. That one fleeting moment with Fleur at the party, where everything seemed possible, it couldn’t be undone. Her heart had been cracked open to reveal its true self, and no amount of balm or self-delusion could cover it back up again.

But what had all seemed so clear on that New Year’s Eve changed in the face of Fleur’s flight from her. The prospect of having to deal with the wreckage of this life-change all by herself was daunting, and Hermione felt it prudent to take her time to be sure. She was married, after all, and her guilt and self-doubt wouldn’t let her just abandon it no matter what her heart wanted. Matching her inner conflict, her subsequent actions over the next several months were at cross purposes. She attended those planned marriage counseling sessions to save her marriage because she’d committed to doing so with Ron and because Hermione Granger wasn’t supposed to fail at anything. At the same time, she also worked to figure out whether it was just Fleur she was attracted to or whether it was to women in general. Was she even attracted to men? Leave it to her to over-think everything while growing up, to never assume something was true without facts to back it up, only to have made that very mistake when it came to her sexuality and she never questioned it until now.

She systematically analyzed every moment in her life that could be construed as demonstrating attraction for another person, trying to give more than the benefit of the doubt to those memories of Ron but also allowing a spotlight to shine on what she had previously thought were insignificant things. With fresh eyes, she recalled her nervous and flustered behavior around attractive girls at Hogwarts. Those lingering glances, the fog in her brain, it had been more than social awkwardness. And as her post-war friendship with Fleur developed, every heartbeat skip she’d had when the Frenchwoman smiled at her held new meaning. After weighing the evidence of those memories, as well as taking note of her responses during some lunches spent observing people of various presented genders in the Atrium of the Ministry and on the streets around the city, she concluded without a shadow of a doubt that she liked women. Only women.

Around this time, Ron gave up on the marriage counseling, having grown impatient with Hermione’s unwillingness to be forthcoming. Incompatibility as romantic partners did not erase the fact that they had started out as friends and he knew her well enough to know that she was holding back. Hermione wanted to argue that marriage required constant effort and honesty from both parties but kept silent because she recognized the hypocrisy in her own actions, in her lack of honesty in those counseling sessions where she’d had every opportunity to tell him what she was feeling and why their marriage was failing.

It took more months for her to screw up the courage to confess this to Ron, to admit defeat and ask for a divorce. She knew it would turn his world upside down and she couldn’t blame him for the anger and hurt it would cause him. Hermione shouldn’t have married him in the first place. She may not have known she was a lesbian back then but a part of her did know that she didn’t love him in the way that he loved her. That alone should have stopped her.

As she debated, she sent one more letter to Fleur. Hermione was too scared to outright say what she felt for her in writing but she begged to see her, she begged Fleur not to end their friendship. As with the other letters, there was no reply. That was when Hermione realized she had to stop hoping Fleur would be there for her. The New Year’s Eve party had been an anomaly, not the start of something between them like she’d hoped. Hermione thought she saw many things in Fleur’s eyes that night as she stepped back out of her arms, need, shame, passion, but the word that had never entered her mind before was ‘disgust’. Maybe Fleur had been disgusted by that intimate moment and that’s why she ran.

Hermione started to see their friendship through a different lens. Were they as close as she had thought? She had found out about Fleur’s problems with Bill from Ginny. It angered her that Fleur had shared that with the redhead and not with her. What else had Fleur shared? Had Hermione ever really known her?

The moment she finally decided to separate from Ron was the same moment she forced herself to give up on Fleur Delacour. Hermione never told anyone about her and if anyone had suspicions, they kept those thoughts to themselves. She still thought about the Veela. For months, it had been every day and then nearly every day. But it got better. Less crippling. Hermione had her work and she was managing to keep her current, albeit very small, social circle intact despite the friction with Ron and his family. She’d come out as a lesbian to close friends and family and was making progress towards being comfortable with being out publicly. Tonight was meant to be another step in that direction.

And now here Fleur was, bringing all of her turmoil back. Why? Why now?

Hermione realized she’d been silent for too long and felt her anger be replaced by trepidation. She smoothed out her skirt as she thought of what to say.

“’Ermione, I think it would be best if we didn’t discuss the past,” said Fleur evenly.

Feeling her mouth fall open, Hermione didn’t know how to respond. How could Fleur think she could get away with not talking about it? Pretend like the hurt never happened? Just one more good night?

A cold clarity came over Hermione as she realized Fleur didn’t mean for this little reunion to last.

“Just like that? It would be that easy for you?”

Fleur smirked and said, “It would interfere with what you want to accomplish tonight, non?”

At those words, Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest. Did Fleur really come here for…? It was like her brain short-circuited and she couldn’t help the images that flashed through her mind. The things she’d wanted to try, positions, skin, taste… and to do all of that with Fleur?

Hermione swallowed hard and stood up and went back to furiously pacing, wringing her hands together. Fleur was distracting her with this, putting focus on Hermione’s intent tonight instead of behaving like a true friend and giving the answers she deserved. She didn’t even recognize what was coming out of her mouth now. Curses, mutterings, arguments. It went on until she heard Fleur’s tinkling laughter.

“You’re so adorable, chérie. I’ve missed you.”

Fleur said it breathlessly, unguarded. And it caught Hermione off guard as well.

She clenched her jaw.

“Don’t. If I can’t discuss the past with you then you don’t get to use your familiarity with me like that,” she bit out.

The blonde visibly recoiled and Hermione felt a pang of regret for her harshness. She went back to sit down on the couch. This wasn’t how she imagined seeing the Frenchwoman again and when she did, she pictured herself as poised and reserved, as someone who accepted that Fleur wasn’t the friend she thought she’d been, and used a meeting to provide a sense of closure for the both of them. Unfortunately, the reality didn’t match that fantasy. Hermione scowled. Fleur may have the answers she needed but she wasn’t going to beg for them. _Fine_ , she thought. _It doesn’t matter, she never felt what I did anyway_.

Taking a breath, she moved on to the next thing. The reason for tonight. Suppressing her renewed embarrassment, Hermione resolved to be polite. She’d gotten herself into this mess and she would calmly get herself out of it. Even though the woman didn’t want to talk about their past, Hermione could still be open and frank about this. And after that, maybe Hermione could finally cut the last tie to Fleur that anchored to her heart.

“Listen, Fleur, forget what I said at the door. I don’t think this would be a good idea,” Hermione managed to say, gesturing between the two of them. “I wanted tonight to be impersonal and professional. A stranger would be better for that.”

“Ah, but I satisfy all those lovely traits you wanted. And don’t you think someone who knows you would be better equipped to satisfy you?”

The teasing tone and the flirty reference to her ‘satisfaction’ threw her off balance again, and Hermione’s face went hot as she turned away, unable to look at the laughter that shone clearly in Fleur’s eyes.

“It’s not just about that,” muttered Hermione under her breath, thinking again of tonight’s plan to learn how to touch a woman properly. Trying to pleasure a woman like Fleur and not knowing what to do was intimidating; she blushed even harder at the thought.

“To that I would argue that it is easier to learn with someone you trust.”

“And you think I still trust you?” she asked, turning back to the Veela, suddenly not caring if Fleur saw how red her face was.

She’d meant it to hurt her, for her words to be a scream at how much hurt she still felt over their past, and Fleur’s eyes did briefly fall but then she blinked it away and ignored Hermione’s question, saying, “I can also guarantee you will be ‘ard-pressed to find another Veela to engage in such a way.”

This was new and in spite of her flash of fury, Hermione leaned slightly towards Fleur, waiting to learn more.

Fleur smiled, knowing she had piqued Hermione’s interest. “It is offensive to Veela to share themselves with those they find sexually unattractive; it makes us violently ill. If a Veela is employed as an escort, she does so rarely as she will want to carefully choose her clients.”

“Is that what you do? Fleur, why? Do you need help? Do you need money?” Hermione cringed, knowing she was prying. But if Fleur needed help, she wouldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t try to give it to her. And a part of her still hoped that this was all a terrible joke that Ginny and Fleur had come up with.

At this, Fleur clucked her tongue and turned away. But even in profile, the blonde looked strangely cautious and contemplative.

“Do we really ‘ave to debate the legitimacy of sex work and the various reasons why people choose it? You’ve done your due diligence, oui?”

Fleur turned back to Hermione. The caution appeared gone, like she had made up her mind, but she still didn’t look completely comfortable.

Hermione’s heart sank as she interpreted the woman’s words to mean this wasn’t a joke; Fleur was here for a job. She slowly nodded her reply. Of course, Hermione had done her research. Research was what had led her to this being a viable option for her situation in the first place.

“In which case, I can assure you I am ‘ere of my own free will. You do not need to worry.”

She didn’t know what to say in reply so she nodded again and remained silent. She looked at her hands and listened to the soft, romantic music on the stereo.

Gradually, she began to feel Fleur’s thrall reach out to her again. Hermione sighed and slightly shook her head, still unsure. The thrall’s advance halted but Fleur didn’t rein it all the way back in. There was a comfort in feeling it again. She noted how her sense of it seemed stronger, like Fleur was physically touching her even though they were on opposite ends of the couch. Hermione relaxed in the familiarity, and without the anger weighing her down, she could also feel a sense of relief to see Fleur again. In spite of everything, she really had missed her.

“You look lovely tonight, ‘Ermione,” Fleur said appreciatively and less on her guard, as if sensing the brunette’s relaxed mood. “The room is nice. I see a decent, open bottle of Beaujolais chilling on the table over there. Food to eat. If you’re not inclined to be intimate, I can still answer questions about being with a woman. I believe that was another of your stipulations.”

“Fleur,” whispered Hermione, feeling tempted. Would it really be so bad to have this first experience be with the woman she’d really been thinking about when she told Ginny her preferences for the escort? Could this be a way to finally get her out of her system?

“You don’t think it would be too awkward given… you know… everything?” she asked quietly. It was a weak attempt to put a stop to it and she shouldn’t have bothered. She knew she was giving in the moment she started her question.

Heat grew low in her belly and to distract herself, Hermione stood up and walked over to the table to pour two glasses of wine. She walked back to the couch and handed one to Fleur. The slight graze of her fingers against Hermione in the hand-off made her gasp.

“Maybe,” Fleur admitted. It frustrated Hermione that Fleur didn’t elaborate but she still appreciated an honest answer instead of more teasing.

She stared into those piercing blue eyes. Fleur raised her glass to her mouth and the action brought her attention to Fleur’s lips. A knowing smirk grew on the Veela’s face but this time Hermione didn’t shy away. The blonde’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t look away either, lowering her glass and placing it on the coffee table. The air shifted and Hermione could feel the tension build, this time not anger but something velvety and dangerous. The thrall felt heady and it made Hermione lightheaded. It was stronger than it had been the night of the party.

Fleur gently took Hermione’s untouched wine out of her hand and placed it next to hers on the coffee table. Hermione was still standing but then she felt one of her hands being pulled down, until she was sitting right next to her, their knees touching. The younger witch couldn’t look away and she let herself be pulled further into those blue eyes.

“’Ave you ever kissed a woman?” Fleur asked in a low voice. “I know you ‘aven’t slept with one but ‘ave you ever just kissed one?” She leaned closer to her and Hermione could feel her breath on her face.

“No,” Hermione breathed out in a whisper and Fleur’s lips slowly curled into a pleased smile.

“I’m going to kiss you, ‘Ermione. Will that be all right?”

Hermione nodded helplessly, suddenly hungry for Fleur’s lips, still not quite believing she would finally get to taste them after dreaming about it for so long.

Fleur leaned in and gently kissed the corner of Hermione’s mouth. The blood rushed through her ears and she sucked in a breath but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her head slightly, feeling Fleur’s mouth slide over, and then she felt lips on hers, chaste at first and then more passionate.

Hermione tried to keep her distance. She tried to control her emotions. _This is just a transaction, it’s not real, don’t lose yourself_ , her mind insisted. But when Fleur’s lips parted, Hermione’s heart leapt right in.

She was in free fall as Fleur’s arms wrapped around to hold her. Hermione’s hands tightly gripped to the lapels of the other woman’s jacket, pulling her closer, trying to reach in and get her heart back but only feeling it fall further into Fleur. It felt so good, she wanted more.

Everything poured into the kiss. Her hurt, all the feelings she’d repressed during their friendship, her anger. Fleur swallowed it all and demanded more, licking into Hermione’s mouth seeking everything she had to give. And in the demanding, Hermione could feel a similar unraveling in Fleur. How she trembled against her, how her little whimpers vibrated against her mouth. The heat of the thrall was sweltering, insistent. Fleur wanted this. Desperately.

What did this mean? If they slept together, how would she recover when Fleur disappeared on her again? The short answer was that she wouldn’t and then she would feel as lost as she did when Fleur left her at that party. Perhaps more so.

Hermione broke the kiss when the ache became too much. She wanted it. She wanted Fleur. But she had to protect herself.

She let go of Fleur’s jacket and scooted away from her on the couch. They were both breathing heavily, trying to catch their breaths. Risking a glance at Fleur, she noticed the woman staring at her, eyes wide.

Hermione glanced down at her hands and saw the faintest orange glow. Shit. _It was just a kiss, Granger, get a hold of yourself._

She gave a little shrug which came off as more of a wave and thankfully, Fleur just nodded and didn’t ask.

Finally composing herself enough to speak, Hermione said, “This is probably a terrible idea. What am I saying, of course it is. Fuck. Fucking Ginny.” She huffed at her rambling and pressed on. “But I… what I mean to say is, we have to keep emotions out of it, Fleur. Agreed?”

Damn, she was in trouble. She was really going to do this. Hermione was terrified. And excited.

The Veela pursed her lips tightly, her blue eyes dark and troubled, and she wondered if Fleur was going to back out. Surprisingly, the thought sent a sharp pain through her chest. Had she misinterpreted Fleur’s response during their kiss that badly? The threat of rejection hurt and she steeled herself for it. _This is why I don’t want emotions_ , she reminded herself.

Then the blonde slowly nodded, whispering, “D’accord.”

The thrall went cold and she knew she’d upset the blonde but she tried not to think more on it. She didn’t _want_ to care; she didn’t _want_ to know what the woman was thinking. Hermione reached for her wine and took a long drink. _Detached. Impersonal. You can do this_.

“Right. So, how do we proceed?” asked Hermione, her voice light yet determined, trying to ignore the heavy tension that had set in after their kiss.

Fleur chuckled, somehow recovering her playful mood. Hermione would have guessed it was a false front but her eyes held mischief. Despite the effort by Hermione to put a wall between them, the Veela easily tore it down. Desire rose up in her again as well as a deep longing. It just felt so good to be around Fleur again, to have her attention, and to feel that her desire was returned.

And she knew that it was. The kiss itself was undeniable. But Fleur had also admitted it earlier when she said that a Veela was very careful in her choice of sexual partners. They coupled solely with those they were attracted to, which meant…

The thought that at least this part of it would be real made Hermione’s skin burn even hotter.

Keeping emotions out of it was going to be a lost cause, she realized. Only heartbreak lay ahead of her. And yet she wouldn’t turn back now. She didn’t want to.

“Well, you could undress me or I could undress you or we can dance. Your choice,” said Fleur in a flirtatious lilt.

The Frenchwoman sounded nonchalant, and that’s probably what she wanted the bookworm to think, but Hermione was captivated by the flushed look on Fleur’s face, the thrall crackling around her in eagerness.

Want and need filled Hermione but she managed to get her brain into gear in order to reply.

“D-d-dance. Let’s do that. Definitely,” Hermione stammered. They had all night, there was no reason to rush.

 _Wait, does Fleur mean_ dance _dance or am I being clueless about a euphemism for sex?_

_Merlin, I’m going to die tonight, aren’t I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might take more than a week until the next update. Just a heads up. Thanks so much for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another reminder that Fleurmione Week 2020 is coming, starting Sept 3! More details at   
> https://fleurmioneweek.tumblr.com/

Chapter 5

Fleur was sitting quietly in Hermione’s hotel suite and watching the brunette angrily pace back and forth. She hadn’t seen the witch in a year and a half and she took the time to take in her appearance. Hermione was as beautiful as she remembered. More so, in fact. Fleur wasn’t used to seeing such rage in her former friend but she had expected it, having spent the previous hour down in the hotel bar preparing for it after all.

She had sat there at the bar sipping a club soda, empty chairs on either side of her, and thankfully only a couple of men had approached. Fleur was very much in control of her thrall nowadays so it was only her appearance that lured them in, and she couldn’t do much about that except to firmly turn them away. The time was also spent reflecting on the moments that led up to this point. She’d done a lot of that over the last few years but knowing Hermione was upstairs, waiting, she couldn’t help but think of all the different ways she’d screwed up.

As a teenager, Fleur knew she wasn’t perfect but she tried to be. She lived her life with purpose. Growing, bettering herself, trying not to hurt anyone. She tried to stand for what was right and also to bend in forgiveness and understanding when the occasion called for it. But try though she might to understand and accept grey areas in others, Fleur was very inflexible when it came to her own actions. Like anyone else, she’d made mistakes and choices she’d regretted but she always had a difficult time accepting her failings and moving on from them.

When she was sixteen, Fleur cheated on her first boyfriend by kissing another boy at school. She had actually waited to have sex until she was seventeen, happy enough with kissing and heavy petting. But her boyfriend, who she’d been dating for three months, was shy and didn’t kiss her as often as she would have liked. So one night at a student party her boyfriend did not attend, she found herself enjoying the attention of another boy. After their kiss, guilt consumed her and she promptly confessed to her boyfriend, who immediately broke up with her. Fleur berated herself over the pain she had caused and swore she wouldn’t do anything like that again. Her friends thought it an extreme overreaction to a kiss but they didn’t understand how dishonorably she had behaved, how the lack of faithfulness made her sick to her stomach. It may have been a human mistake to them but to her it was an example of a moral defect within her that might carry on to her future relationships. Her guilt and shame led her to view honoring one’s promises as paramount to everything else, no matter what.

It was a more extreme view to that of her family but its beginnings came from them just the same. The Delacours were not overly concerned about who she dated once she reached the Veela age of majority, which was sixteen, and they often reminded her to have fun, be safe, and always be honest with her partners. And if or when she wanted to marry, her family stressed the importance of being absolutely certain about her lifelong commitment to that person, not because they didn’t believe in divorce but because marriage directly affected two people’s lives. Her mother told her it wouldn’t be fair to that spouse, to build a life with someone, if she didn’t think she could keep her vows.

For them, it had been about being mature and responsible with one’s choices. For Fleur, she understood it to mean that there was no going back once a promise like that had been made. That sort of rigidity was not for everyone but having a code to live by was very comforting to Fleur. She liked clear-cut rules and uncrossable lines; having them made sense to her and provided safety.

William Weasley was a charming, handsome man. He was kind and came from a good, loving family. When they met briefly at the Triwizard Tournament, she was dating a girl from school. Fleur found him attractive but didn’t feel the pull to pursue anything until she started working at Gringotts and he befriended her. This time she broke up with her girlfriend before anything happened with Bill. That ending was sad but they’d been growing apart and she was getting tired of the off-again, on-again nature of that relationship. Bill felt like a move in the right direction.

They got along well and his determination to fight against Voldemort and his followers matched her own. When he proposed, she carefully considered it, discussing it at length with her family. Fleur did wish the courtship had moved more slowly and that they could have had a longer engagement so he could get to know her family better, and they could get to know each other better. In addition to those misgivings over how quickly things had progressed, Fleur also admitted to a worry of never being truly accepted by Bill’s family. Her mother advised her not to rush, that her concerns weren’t insignificant and that they likely hinted the match wasn’t meant to last, but war was approaching and she had to make a decision. Fleur told herself she did love him and that if it wasn’t a complete love now, she believed she would eventually grow into it. She accepted Bill’s proposal wholeheartedly, firmly committed to spending a lifetime with him.

The thing Fleur had yet to learn, unfortunately, was that the heart was not always a perfect instrument and it wasn’t always perfectly understood. When she committed to marrying Bill, she thought she meant it, she thought she knew herself, she thought she was ready.

That all changed when Hermione Granger and her friends arrived at Shell Cottage after escaping from Malfoy Manor.

She hadn’t really known the girl apart from what she’d heard from Bill and what she’d gleaned in those distant greetings at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. Fleur barely noticed her at all on her wedding day. But when Hermione’s care fell into her hands, knowing her importance to the war, she dedicated everything to healing the young witch. In doing so, Fleur found that she admired her strength and resilience. As broken as she was, the young witch fought and kept fighting. Fleur had heard about the girl’s thirst for knowledge and interest in magical creatures so she tried to keep Hermione distracted with stories about her people as she nursed her back to health. Those conversations quickly evolved to discussions about Fleur’s work as a curse-breaker, various theories and practical usages of runes, the differences in laws regarding magical creatures between their countries, and so forth. Fleur felt her knowledge tested and at the same time expanded. Hermione’s curiosity and intelligence knew no bounds and yet at the same time she was so innocent and naïve about people and interpersonal relationships that Fleur enjoyed teasing and flustering the girl. In that at least, she could always best her.

It also surprised Fleur at how her thrall responded to Hermione. She hadn’t noticed it before in those prior gatherings but now she sensed how it didn’t move through the brunette as it did others. It was exceedingly rare for those without Veela heritage to sense a Veela’s thrall as anything other than an allure. She had a feeling the Lovegood girl had a Veela ancestor somewhere but Hermione did not, which meant there was a slight difference in how she felt it. A fellow Veela would have a sense of Fleur’s emotional state but there would be no further interaction, no tangling of magic. With a magical non-Veela who sensed her emotions through her thrall, the sense would strengthen over time because the thrall, and by extension Fleur, would become more familiar with the magic of the other person, recognizing it and seeking it. When the bookworm asked Fleur about what she felt, she explained some things and did mention how few could feel it the way Hermione could, but she didn’t mention how rare it was for a non-Veela to do so. And she ignored how she’d once read that Veela tended to find comfort with such a person as it made them more open and more free to be themselves. Fleur told herself it didn’t really mean anything other than that Hermione would make a very good friend once the war was over.

When it was time for Hermione and her friends to continue the fight, she worried for her young friend. She hadn’t made very many of those since moving to England and she let herself imagine a future where they would meet for coffee and continue their long conversations. Almost losing Bill to Greyback’s attack had been awful but the thought of losing Hermione seemed worse somehow. There existed so much potential in one witch, Fleur was convinced it would be a great loss to the world if she perished.

After the final battle at Hogwarts, Fleur was incredibly relieved the girl had survived. Her wish to form a true friendship with the young witch came to fruition and they grew close very quickly. Just friends, she told herself. It was true that Hermione was beautiful and she saw the brunette come into her own in that respect, growing in confidence and how she held herself, but Fleur had always admired beauty and refused to think there was anything more than that. Their meetings became more frequent and at times, Fleur never wanted them to end.

_“I’m meeting ‘Ermione for dinner. I might be a bit late tonight,” Fleur called out, gathering her purse and coat._

_Bill casually walked down the stairs. “You know we’ll be seeing her tomorrow for breakfast at the Burrow.”_

_“It is utter chaos there. This way, I can ‘ave ‘er to myself for a few ‘ours and can then concentrate on conversing with others tomorrow.”_

_“You see each other all the time, though. I’d like to have nights out with my wife, too. Or nights in. Don’t get me wrong, I know she’s your best friend and you don’t have any of those here but I invite you to gatherings with my friends, and I’m told I can be a good conversationalist…”_

_The question in his eyes made Fleur feel guilty. He was right, she had been spending more time away from him recently._

_Pushing away her reluctance, she said, “Then by all means, come join us tonight. I’m sure ‘Ermione won’t mind.”_

_They apparated to an alley around the corner from a new restaurant Hermione wanted to try. It was a muggle establishment, and Bill looked surprised but took it in stride._

_Hermione was inside waiting at the bar. Fleur saw how her eyes lit up at seeing her but then those eyes noticed Bill behind her and she saw the flash of disappointment. To Hermione’s credit, she quickly recovered and gave a friendly greeting to him._

_Dinner at first was awkward but they managed to include Bill in their conversations. He was intelligent with an engaging sense of humor, and could keep up in subjects related to curse-breaking and his family or reminiscing about missions for the Order. But after a few glasses of wine, Fleur forgot to keep including him in the flurry of topics which ranged from muggle art and literature to Hermione’s work trying to advance creature rights. She and Hermione got caught up in old arguments and inside jokes and it wasn’t until she noticed Bill staring at them that Fleur realized her mistake._

_Bill was quiet when they arrived at home, not saying much as they prepared for sleep. Once in bed, with the lights turned off, Fleur turned on her side facing away from him and closed her eyes._

_“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that before,” Bill said quietly into the darkness. “So comfortable and talkative. I didn’t know you knew so much about muggle literature. Or any of those things, really. And I’ve never seen her like that either. I mean, she’s always been talkative and opinionated but this was different.”_

_“She and I just ‘ave a lot in common,” Fleur murmured softly into her pillow, hoping Bill would take the hint that it was time to sleep._

_“Yeah. Makes me wonder what she has in common with my brother.”_

_Fleur rolled her eyes. On that, she and Bill could agree._

_Bill fell quiet. After several minutes she thought he went to sleep and she started to let herself drift off, too. But before she did, she heard him whisper._

_“It makes me wonder what we have in common.”_

If Fleur had to choose when her marriage started to break down, it would have to be that night. Bill saw something she hadn’t yet seen herself and he never again went out with her and Hermione without others there to provide a buffer. It was around this time that she stopped talking about Hermione with Bill. And where she had once been comfortable occasionally bringing up Bill and their adjustment to married life without the pressures of war, after that night Fleur began avoiding talk of that part of her life altogether. It wasn’t as if she and Hermione didn’t discuss their romantic histories but when it came to her marriage, she became protective. The brunette would speak of Ron at times but eventually she, too, stopped mentioning him.

It wasn’t until much later that Fleur realized she hadn’t been protecting her marriage at all but rather segmenting her life, isolating Bill and Hermione into separate pieces, and Hermione’s piece had steadily grown in importance as time went on.

She spent more time thinking about the girl than thinking about Bill, coming up with activities and gifts to surprise her with. If a unique case came up at work or she had a funny story to tell, the first person she thought to talk to was Hermione. If she had a problem or a worry, the first person she sought comfort from was Hermione. Fleur loved how the young witch smiled, how she blushed at her innuendos, how her mind worked. She was smart, she was witty, she cared so much about equality and equity. Being around her made Fleur feel more like herself than she did with anyone else. Even when they were at Weasley family gatherings or get-togethers at Harry’s, her thrall would seek Hermione out, wrapping itself around the girl as if it belonged there. Like Fleur belonged there with her.

And her eyes, those gorgeous chocolate eyes that she wanted to sink into, the freckles on her nose that called for her attention, those soft lips that she frequently found herself staring at...

Just friends, she kept telling herself but by then it was too late. And she didn’t know how late it really was until Hermione told her at lunch one day that she and Ron had become engaged.

Like a dutiful friend, Fleur had smiled and wished her well on this new path but inside she was shocked. Ronald was not a match for Hermione’s intellect and she had thought her friend would have seen that on her own before it had gotten this far. If she could overlook these things, it meant that Hermione truly loved him. As her friend gushed over his proposal and their tentative plans for a wedding date, Fleur’s devastation grew. So did her jealousy. It took every ounce of willpower she had to keep her thrall contained so her friend couldn’t tell. When she got home, she frustratedly cleaned the whole house in an attempt to ignore what she was feeling. But when the cleaning was done, there was nothing left to distract her from that day’s revelation.

She was attracted to Hermione Granger. She wanted her. And she didn’t want anyone else to have her.

The guilt that came over her took her breath away. It may not have counted as physical infidelity but to Fleur it was still faithlessness and she was ashamed. Just as she had suspected and feared all those years ago when she was sixteen, she was a terrible person. And now Hermione was going to be married, too, and she couldn’t interfere with that in any way. Fleur may have disrespected her own marriage but she couldn’t do that to Hermione’s. She resolved to re-devote herself to Bill and to keep Hermione from finding out how she felt. It was easier said than done. Hiding her thrall one time at lunch was one thing but they saw each other all the time. How was she going to be able to consistently hide her attraction and jealousy from someone who became more attuned to her thrall with every encounter? How was Fleur going to be around her while trying to get over it? It wouldn’t be possible. And then Hermione would know and she couldn’t let that happen. She would have to find a way to get rid of these feelings first. Separating herself from the young witch was the only way forward.

It was difficult cutting herself out of Hermione’s life. Not answering every letter, making excuses for missed lunch dates until it escalated to not even trying to reschedule anymore. Reading Hermione’s increasingly worried letters was painful but Fleur knew she was doing the right thing. They were still connected by the Weasley family and seeing each other at the Burrow was unavoidable but Fleur held strong and kept her distance.

_“Fleur, I know we don’t usually talk about her but I have to ask… what’s going on with you and Hermione? I thought you two were as thick as thieves. And now you don’t go out anymore, and you barely speak to her at the house. You’re kind of making my job to keep the bride happy very hard to do.”_

_Fleur sat across from Ginny in a small café in Diagon Alley, and she gripped her coffee so hard, she was sure she would crack the cup._

_“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been very busy and I needed to spend more time with Bill.”_

_“More time to fight with him, you mean,” replied Ginny._

_She gasped and glared hard at the redhead, wondering if Bill had broken his promise not to tell his family they’d been fighting._

_“It’s just… you two don’t seem very happy lately.” Ginny paused, and Fleur was suddenly uncomfortable. She knew Ginny was very perceptive and she had a feeling this conversation was going to lead someplace she very much wanted to avoid._

_“Marriage ‘as its ups and downs. You’ll find that out with ‘Arry eventually. And so will ‘Ermione,” Fleur replied diplomatically, hoping that would satisfy Ginny’s curiosity._

_“You like her, don’t you?”_

_“Ginny…”_

_“And the timing of this break with her is suspect. Didn’t it start at the time she got engaged?”_

_“I don’t like what you’re implying, Ginevra.”_

_“And what exactly am I implying, Fleur?”_

_Fleur scoffed but didn’t say anything._

_Ginny clenched her jaw, seeming like she was trying to choose her words carefully._

_“Look, I know it must sound strange coming from me, and I love both my brothers, but you and Hermione are my friends. I see things. If there’s anything you’re thinking of doing, you’re running out of time.”_

_“There’s nothing I will do, Ginny,” answered Fleur quietly after a long moment of silence. “It’s ‘ow it should be. She will marry Ronald, I will concentrate on my marriage, and you will promise me not to say anything to ‘er about this.”_

_Ginny grumbled, opening her mouth to protest. “But…”_

_“Promise me,” Fleur interrupted, imploring Ginny to understand._

_“Fine. But I reserve the right to give you the biggest ‘I told you so’ ever when the time comes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sticking with this story. I hope you're all safe and healthy out there.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks. The flurry of writing for fleurmione week burned me out so I'll be slowing down the update schedule on this to make sure I give it the attention it deserves.

Chapter 6

Fleur glanced at her watch. Fifteen more minutes and then she would go up to Hermione’s room. Up until then she hadn’t been nervous but this time of reverie, replaying the past in her mind, it made her worry that Hermione would not be as receptive to her presence as she’d hoped. And Fleur would deserve every insult the brunette had to give. Taking another sip of her club soda, she wondered yet again if things would’ve played out differently if she had gone to the wedding.

She remembered how, even though Ginny had disapproved of how she was handling Hermione, the redhead had still kept her updated about what was happening with their friend. Fleur hated hurting her but she had done it for both their sakes. In time, she had told herself, her feelings would dull and she would make it up to the girl.

But her feelings for the young witch didn’t go away nor did they diminish. In fact, they had seemed to get stronger every day. She had yearned and ached for her and often daydreamed of apparating to wherever Hermione was to tell her how she felt. Imagined scenes of tender kisses and sighs cluttered her mind. Fighting with Bill became more frequent as her unhappiness and loneliness grew. He even asked her if she wanted to leave him. Ignoring the ‘yes’ that bubbled up in her throat, Fleur had convinced him she didn’t, arguing their marriage was a commitment that she would not turn her back on.

Throughout all of this, Fleur still thought she would be able to go to Hermione’s wedding. Ginny and Harry had been selected as the maid of honor and best man, respectively, and there were no other bridesmaids or groomsmen which meant the only thing she had to do was attend and keep her distance. But as the day had approached, she panicked. There was no way Fleur could sit there and watch Hermione bind herself to someone who didn’t deserve or understand her. Not with a smile on her face. Not without standing up in protest, or worse, expressing the feelings that she had been trying for months to smother. Even if she could somehow let the ceremony finish, she knew she would not have been able to keep her thrall and emotions in check during the reception when all she would want would be to take Hermione in her arms and be the only one she danced with. Fleur had never danced with her before and she often daydreamed about a Yule Ball where she’d noticed the younger witch and asked her to dance, imagining where that might have led them. It was a silly fantasy that tore her heart into shreds each time she came back to reality.

No. Hermione loved Ron and she had to respect that and stay away. Manipulating her boss into assigning her to an emergency recovery project in Romania had been easy. Fleur had apologized to an angry Bill and left him to explain to his family and Hermione why she couldn’t be there.

It had been her worst job to date. The entire trip was spent moping. She overlooked key runes protecting the vault she was meant to help open and a portion of its contents was damaged as a result. Fortunately, no one was hurt and the job ended early. The actual day of the wedding had been spent crying in her hotel room accompanied by two bottles of wine.

In the weeks after she got back home, her heart sank to find that Hermione stopped writing altogether but she didn’t blame the girl. Fleur herself had increased the distance by not going to the Burrow during times she knew Hermione would be there. There would be occasional run-ins at Harry’s or glimpses in Diagon Alley but nothing significant. Eventually she had to bend on her Burrow rule after so many months of not going but the damage she’d inflicted was done. The friendship was broken.

Unfortunately, instead of successfully rekindling what she once had with her husband, she spiraled further into depression. As a result, she went home every few weeks for short visits to France to spend time with a Veela healer, not just for her emotional state but to find a way to be satisfied in her marriage. Bill had gone with her at first but he grew frustrated with her increasingly distant behavior and stopped accompanying her, which was ironic considering her purpose for going. It took Fleur several more months to be comfortable enough with the healer to confide in her about her attraction to Hermione. The healer had not been surprised; she told Fleur she knew there had been something competing with her resolve to save her marriage. The woman held less traditional views on marriage and divorce than she did and she pointed out that from her first visit, Fleur only ever spoke about Bill in terms of preserving the marriage, of finding satisfaction in it. It was never about finding love again with him or being happy with him. And the woman questioned whether forcing herself to stay with someone she didn’t love did more harm than good.

Her mother was not surprised when she finally told her parents what she was feeling. She didn’t mention Hermione to them but she did confess to not loving Bill and not being happy. Even with their support, Fleur still didn’t know what the right choice was. It took more conversations with the Veela healer as well as a surprisingly supportive owl from Ginny Weasley for Fleur to reconcile herself to the idea of ending the marriage as the more honorable option, as a way of letting Bill find the happiness he deserved.

It was just before Christmas when Fleur had told Bill she wanted a divorce and the decision did not surprise him. They had cried in each other’s arms, both sorry for the choices they made that led to that point. It was generous of Bill to think he had a hand in their ending. Fleur knew the guilt belonged solely with her. She was the one who had failed. She was the one that had committed to him despite having misgivings, foolishly thinking they would find more in common than just their work and their fight against Voldemort. And she was the one who allowed affection for a friend to grow into more. Her time with the healer taught her not to torture herself over those choices, regardless of current circumstances. Feeling regret was natural but she had to forgive herself in order to move on from it. It was advice which Fleur had struggled with at the time. Divorce had been the right decision for them both but she still hated having hurt Bill, and her guilt back then ate at her.

Bill had asked if there was someone else. It was a reasonable question and Fleur didn’t want to lie so she said yes, quickly adding that nothing had happened and that it was unrequited. She did not tell him who it was but looking back, Fleur suspected he knew all along.

She thought of the last time she’d seen Hermione. How beautiful she looked that New Year’s Eve. Fleur wished she’d had the courage to tell the young witch the truth but she hadn’t been thinking clearly that night.

While he agreed to the divorce, Bill convinced her that they should hold off telling the rest of his family until after the holidays. Fleur was not happy about lying but she understood Bill’s desire to not upset his parents during happy family gatherings so she reluctantly agreed. Her refusal to go to the Weasley dinner on Christmas day led to a fierce argument but she compromised by agreeing to attend the New Year’s Eve party. Fleur figured it would be easier to get through a party than a sit-down holiday dinner with the Weasleys and Hermione.

The night of the party she’d been angry about having to be there under the guise of being Bill’s wife, and the anticipation of soon being free of him left her feeling reckless and unfettered. After consuming an inordinate amount of alcohol, her eyes caught Hermione looking at her and instead of turning away and ignoring the brunette, Fleur found herself smiling. Her mind yelled at her not to, that the young witch was a married woman and that she needed to respect that, but her selfishness and heart overruled it. She would be moving back to France anyway, she might never see Hermione again, and she wanted to bask in the woman’s friendship just once more.

What happened that night ended up appalling her. She hadn’t meant to flirt so shamelessly. She hadn’t meant to nearly kiss the girl. Feeling close to her, feeling like she had someone that matched her in every way, the temptation to try for more was so strong.

_Fleur was at peace staring up at the stars, their light shining through space and time. The din of the party faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was this moment and the woman next to her. She could feel her eyes on her but the Veela didn’t turn. She didn’t want to break the spell. In this moment, she felt safe, she felt like anything was possible._

_It was pure contentment._

_And no sooner did she think those words than the shame returned. Shame at how she had treated Hermione, at the way she was using her now to forget her pain. Fleur wanted to come clean. She wanted to apologize for her selfishness._

_When the clock struck midnight, it was clear they were not in the right location for that conversation so she pulled Hermione to the side of the house. Her heart raced and she tried to calm it by embracing Hermione, telling her that she missed her. Once she heard what she had to say, Fleur doubted the brunette would want to see her again and she wanted to feel her one last time before that happened._

_Then Hermione whispered into her neck and Fleur felt a jolt of pleasure shoot down her spine. She slowly pulled back and looked into her friend’s eyes. Hermione was looking at her lips and without thinking, her own gaze lowered, too. Fleur could feel it, could feel everything she wanted. Stunned, she yanked herself away from the other witch._

Fleur sighed at the memory of that realization.

All that time she thought it had just been a strong attraction, an infatuation she couldn’t shake, something she’d latched onto in order to help her understand that she didn’t really belong with Bill. But standing under the stars at midnight, gazing into those warm eyes and seeing something that looked like Hermione wanted the same thing, it filled her with an unbearable need. Fleur looked at those lips, yearning to taste her, to be tasted by her. And she had realized right then what her true feelings were. She would never be satisfied with just friendship because this was love. She loved her. These feelings weren’t fleeting, they were still and solid and all-encompassing.

But Hermione was married and didn’t feel the same way. The girl had just gotten caught up in a moment under the stars. Fleur would not do that to Hermione, her happiness more important than her own. Stealing a kiss would be a selfish act and would only risk the life the young witch was building with her husband. As if the universe knew she needed one more reminder, the sound of Ronald’s voice broke the tension, and she ran.

Fleur had heard Hermione calling after her in the house as she made her way to the floo. It made her feel like such a coward and she stopped. She wanted to tell the truth, give some kind of explanation. At the very least, Fleur should allow a proper goodbye especially since she was leaving England, and so she waited for Hermione to catch up to her. Maybe Hermione really did feel something, and she tried to think of what words to say during those few seconds of waiting. When she didn’t come, Fleur decided to look for her. She made her way back towards the front of the house, eyes seeking the brunette amongst the inebriated crowd. Then Fleur saw her. Tears sprang to her eyes at the sight of the woman she loved in another’s arms. There it was. The cold, hard truth staring her in the face. Hermione wasn’t hers and she had to let her go. She swallowed the lump in her throat, heartbroken, and went back to the floo and left. At Shell Cottage, Fleur grabbed the two bags she had packed, shrunk them down to fit in her pockets, and promptly took the floo to her parents’ house.

Life carried on in France. Since Bill didn’t contest the divorce, it was finalized quickly. Hermione wrote a few letters but Fleur didn’t read them. It hurt too much; she burned them so she wouldn’t be tempted to reply. When she felt ready, she moved out of her parents’ house and found a flat in Paris, taking on some freelance work including some less reputable assignments which were necessary to pay the bills. Fleur was determined to pay her own way and live on her own terms, leaving her life in England behind except for the occasional letter exchange with a hard-headed Ginny.

The Frenchwoman wouldn’t say she was happy with how things had turned out but she did find satisfaction in her work and in the knowledge that Hermione was happy with her husband.

Time moved slowly until one day Fleur was blindsided by Ginny’s owl informing her of Hermione’s intent to divorce Ron. Fleur found herself torn between being elated and crestfallen at the news. Ginny didn’t give a reason and she burned with curiosity. She recalled receiving a letter from Hermione a few months before that but she hadn’t read it. Unlike the previous letters that were sent after the New Year’s Eve party, she’d kept this last one as a memento. Opening it, she read a pleading note to meet and to preserve their friendship. There was also a hint at something she was afraid of but that it meant her happiness to do it. Gears started turning in her head. Hermione was getting a divorce, she was going to be free, and she had initiated this separation on her own. It didn’t take long for the blonde to feel like this was finally her chance to reconnect.

Fleur made arrangements to move to London. Her work could be done anywhere and she knew she could get consulting work from Gringotts, too. She didn’t have to clear anything with the government or the Ministry of Magic as she still had permanent residency papers.

She had found a flat in a muggle area near Diagon Alley. At first she was worried she would run into people she knew and was a bit surprised that it didn’t happen, not that she announced her return or anything conspicuous like that. Bill probably knew through work despite his living and working in Egypt but none of their mutual acquaintances and friends reached out to her.

That had been four months ago, much of which was spent being too scared to contact Hermione to let her know she was back.

Wallowing in self-doubt did not help her confidence and she was a wreck by the time she received a phone call from Ginny two weeks ago asking to meet. They’d exchanged mobile numbers some months back; apparently Hermione had shown her how to use a cell phone and Ginny had slowly adopted its use, still preferring the use of owls. But given the urgency, Ginny broke down and used the mobile device. Their subsequent meeting was an eye-opener.

_“’Ermione wants to ‘ire an escort?” Fleur stumbled through the words, still not believing what Ginny had said._

_“You heard me.”_

_“And you want me to pretend to be one?” Fleur asked nervously._

_“No, I didn’t say that. You show up and then you two finally have it out.”_

_“I don’t understand,” Fleur murmured, trying to avoid Ginny’s eyes._

_“Don’t play dumb, Fleur. You like her, right? You moved back here after the divorce, didn’t you? This is your chance to catch her off guard and lay your cards on the table.”_

_“Why do you think I would be interested in… such a relationship with ‘Ermione?” Fleur cautiously asked, a tiny bit hopeful, wondering if Hermione had said something to her. And how did Ginny know she had moved back to London?_

_Ginny snorted and cocked an eyebrow. “Please. You and I have been friends for years now and I know pining and eye-fucking when I see it. I knew what was up when Bill told me you were back. Also, can I say ‘I told you so’ yet?”_

_Fleur blushed and turned away._

_“And what if she… doesn’t…?”_

_“Fleur Delacour, you were paying attention to her list of preferences, right?”_

_Fleur’s mind was too scattered to reply as she tried to absorb what Ginny had shared with her. Hermione wanted to have sex with an escort as a way to learn how to be with a woman. An escort who very much matched the blonde’s description. Ginny was oddly tight-lipped about the reason why and she respected the girl for keeping her friend’s secrets but Fleur could read between the lines. Hermione liked women. Hermione wanted a woman that sounded a lot like her. Was this why she divorced Ron? Did Hermione have feelings for her, too?_

_“Shouldn’t I just call ‘er then?” asked Fleur._

_“Where’s the fun in that?” Ginny replied with a deadpan expression. “She’s going to kill me either way for talking to you, might as well have fun with it. Also, considering how you pretty much destroyed the friendship, I have a feeling you won’t have any luck with a direct approach. Showing up at her hotel will force her to talk with you.”_

One more glance at her watch told her it was time. She grabbed her handbag and walked through the lobby towards the elevators. Fleur was glad that she wore the pants suit. She blended in easily with the other hotel guests and it was a neutral look, not something she would ordinarily wear for a night with a lover, or potential lover as the case may be.

Worry and nervousness had her gnawing on her lip as the elevator took her up to Hermione’s floor and as she stepped out into the hallway. But she was strangely calm as she reached to knock on Hermione’s door. This was it. This would be when she would tell Hermione of her love and beg for forgiveness for how she had treated her.

Fleur knocked again and she heard Hermione on the other side begin to open the door. Her heart raced.

When she saw the younger witch, she was stunned. _So beautiful_. Her heart leapt, ecstatic to see her again. Fleur enjoyed the surprised look on her face and waited for a response.

But when it came, she wished she’d never come at all.

Fleur had the urge to flee but managed to compose herself enough to walk into the suite, Hermione’s words echoing in her ears. They were cold. And the underlying rage beneath them filled her with nausea. She didn’t know why she stayed silent and watched as Hermione paced, even staying put after the brunette snapped at her, but she took the time to formulate a plan. Hermione obviously thought she was a real escort. She could either carry on the charade a little longer or reveal herself.

The younger witch looked defeated as she sat down on the couch. Her voice when she asked for more time sounded so lost and Fleur felt sick with guilt. Guilt for what she’d done, for how she’d treated her, and for showing up like this tonight. If the same thing had happened to her, she would be furious and embarrassed, too. _Why did I listen to Ginny?_

She could make it up to her by going along with what Hermione thought. Once the idea entered her mind, Fleur held onto it, rationalizing that she would actually be helping Hermione. The brunette would get what she wanted and Fleur would have one night to cherish her beloved before leaving and never bothering Hermione again. In order to be able to do this, however, Fleur would have to toss out her plan to apologize and explain. Burying the past would let her keep her distance.

The initial exchange of words where she did nothing to dispel Hermione’s notion of her being an escort went well. Hermione snapping at her again only reinforced her decision to keep playing this role. And when she made the bookworm blush, it made Fleur feel powerful and free. She liked being able to express interest like this, to pursue without obstacles like marriages in the way. The Veela tried not to let the younger witch’s cutting words of not trusting her get to her. Instead Fleur tried to soothe her misgivings and make her feel confident that she could provide the night that the younger witch had been expecting.

Or maybe instead of sleeping together, they could just talk and Fleur could give her advice on approaching and being with a woman. She suggested this option and a part of her hoped Hermione would take it and they could talk and laugh like they used to. In a bout of honesty, she also acknowledged the potential for awkwardness. The selfish part of her, though, couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to touch Hermione intimately, to have what she’d been longing for all these years. Fleur may have looked outwardly calm but inside she was desperate to not be kicked out of the room; she just wanted more time with the younger witch.

Then that kiss happened.

Up until that moment, Fleur had maintained at least a semblance of aloofness but the second her lips touched Hermione’s skin, the attempt fell by the wayside. And when Hermione turned into her mouth, her control slipped away even more. To finally touch her, to taste her. Desire poured out of her and she was sure Hermione could tell. How could she not?

Hands gripped her lapels and pulled Fleur closer, her own hands holding onto Hermione’s back and feeling hot skin and a bra beneath the thin silk blouse. Her scent, her sounds, the way Hermione’s body moved against hers, like a dance they were always meant to share. She felt Hermione opening, giving, not holding anything back, and Fleur accepted it all and demanded more. Her heart thundered in her chest with hope. Hope that Hermione’s earlier words and anger were just a pretense, that they were not telling her the whole story. Her thrall crashed around them, driven hotter by Hermione’s magic which she felt as if it were seeping out of her, calling to her as if the brunette had a thrall of her own. It was wonderful, intoxicating; she had never felt anything like it before. The Veela felt rather than saw the colors their joining was creating. Oranges and then blues and violets, pulling at her, drawing her thrall ever closer, enticing her to give even more of herself and reveal her heart. It all drove Fleur wild with need and she could hold back her love no longer. She wanted her, here, now at this very moment, and just as Fleur had been about to abandon the last of her control over her thrall and press in harder to lay her back against the couch, her hand drifting upward to grip brown locks, Hermione broke the kiss.

She fought with the impulse to pull her back, especially when she noticed the faint glow of magic on the brunette’s skin, the sight of which made her heart stutter. Fleur remembered an embarrassed Hermione and a wine-fueled conversation they once had, and knew what that magical aura meant. Was this stimulation-induced aura related to Hermione’s ability to feel her thrall in the way she did? Was how her thrall responded to it what the passage on Veela thrall was referring to when it said Veela tended to find comfort and be more open with such a person? Fleur’s thrall had essentially melded with Hermione’s magic during their kiss, and could touch it even now, the heat smoldering while Hermione sat there trying to catch her breath. Through her thrall, Fleur could practically taste Hermione’s arousal and it fed her own, causing a warm pulse between her thighs. If that was what a kiss with the brunette could make her feel, what would making love be like? This was new and exciting and she hoped Hermione would speak about what they just shared so she could learn more. But she didn’t. Instead the young witch closed herself off, reminding her of what her role was tonight; an escort, not a woman who had just kissed her as if her life depended upon it.

Fleur tried to tamp down her heart and accept that the only thing the bookworm wanted from her was her body. The rational and healthy thing to do would be to leave, and she seriously considered it. It would be torture to sleep with the woman she loved knowing her love wasn’t returned. But her selfishness was strong and her earlier rationalization won out. Besides, was letting Hermione believe she was an escort really such a harmful lie if the brunette was getting exactly what she wanted out of it? Agreeing to keep emotions out of it was another lie, as if what they just experienced hadn’t been heightened at all by their emotional states, but maybe what the other woman really meant was not discuss them and keep them hidden.

Keeping her emotions hidden wasn’t so simple considering her thrall but it was also difficult when faced with Hermione’s current body language as she collected herself. Discomfort, an effort to hide how flustered she was. When Hermione asked how they were to proceed, Fleur couldn’t stop a small laugh at the words. She heard what wasn’t said, the more beneath the surface. The Veela was very familiar with physical desire, having seen it in the expressions of countless people over the years. What she was seeing in the younger witch in this moment was different. Caution mixed with want. Nervousness mixed with determination. An emotion in the eyes that was reminiscent of the way she looked that night under the stars. While it was frustrating to see the younger witch put on an air of indifference and pretend she hadn’t felt how much the blonde wanted her, it amused her to know that she wasn’t the only one struggling with emotions.

The Veela became determined to get Hermione to stop trying to control her desires, to stop being so inhibited. If Hermione was set on going through with this, then Fleur wanted all of her passion, all of her need. Flustering her was easy; getting her to open up after everything she’d put her through, that would be the hard part. They needed to start slow and an idea began to form. What if she gave Hermione a choice? Even if Fleur stacked the deck a bit with the options, it would make the other witch feel like she had more control, which was something she knew Hermione needed to feel comfortable. Something that would keep Hermione close and at the same time get her to lower her guard.

Fleur knew just the thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get a bit more of Fleur's perspective before jumping back to Hermione's in the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you're all doing okay out there.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Hermione sat frozen on the couch, waiting for Fleur to make the first move.

_What was the first move again?_

_Oh right, dancing. Music. Should I make the volume on the stereo louder?_

But she still didn’t move. And instead of Fleur helping her out, the blonde lazily reached for her wine and settled back into the couch.

Enough time passed since the kiss for Hermione’s pulse to slow down but for some reason it wouldn’t stop racing. Fleur’s lips looked swollen and pride swelled in her at having been the cause. The Frenchwoman’s suit jacket was rumpled and her blues eyes were still dark in spite of her obvious effort to look indifferent.

She could slide over there, closer to the Veela. She could trace her jawline with her fingers, follow a path down her neck, her tongue not far behind. Hermione’s breath hitched at the thought and she closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from imagining what would come next. Hands deftly removing layers of clothing, skin ready and willing to be mapped by her mouth. To lay claim, to show Fleur what she’d missed out on.

Anger lanced through Hermione and her imagined touches became harsher, her teeth punishing. She wanted to make Fleur writhe beneath her, to cry out her name in contrition, penance, and devotion.

Hermione quickly stood up, her eyes darting wildly about the room, looking anywhere but at the other woman. Her anger fled at overstepping with her imagination like that even though technically she could ask Fleur to give her this exact scenario.

“Sorry, um, we’ll need music for dancing, right?”

“It would ‘elp. But I think what you’ve chosen works. Old standards, even some chanson, everything we used to...”

Even though Fleur looked away instead of finishing her sentence, Hermione knew what the woman meant to say. The music Hermione had selected for this date had been exactly the kind of music they used to enjoy together, an old AM radio station they found once upon a time that the bookworm was able to have magically connected to any radio on which she’d cast the charm. She blushed at the old memories. Would she ever not blush at Fleur’s words?

Walking to the stereo, she took her time fiddling with the volume knob and heard Fleur stand up and walk to an open area of the room. Hermione reached for her anger, needing it to face this woman without surrendering everything, and it was there but it was also mixed up with thoughts about when they could kiss again.

Finally turning around, she saw Fleur had slipped off her shoes and her jacket. Even her wand had been placed on the coffee table. Her blonde hair was still up in her loose bun and she looked almost domestic. The brunette eyed the button-up silk blouse that was designed to not be tucked in, the sleeves that went down to the blonde’s elbows. Hermione wondered how hard it would be to undo those buttons with one hand. When she looked up, she saw Fleur’s smirk.

Huffing, Hermione slipped off her shoes, removed her wand holster and wand from her arm, and placed it next to Fleur’s. Then she walked over to the blonde. Rolling her eyes, she placed her left hand on Fleur’s shoulder and held her right hand up, waiting for Fleur’s left.

“Looks like we finally get that dance. You missed your chance at my wedding, after all,” said Hermione haughtily.

Instead of a returning barb, Fleur’s features softened and she slowly took Hermione’s hand and placed her other on her lower back, pulling her closer. Without speaking, the Veela gently led her in a slow, simple box step which matched the slow rhythm of the song, but the steps were small, confining them to the small area Fleur chose. Hermione danced stiffly, frustrated that Fleur could be so calm. Taking a breath, she slowly began to realize that she couldn’t sense the thrall. In the past, she had usually been able to tell when the blonde was making an effort to contain it but right now she saw no sign of concentration in her expression. This change in Fleur reminded her even more of their distance and all the memories that had been made without her.

Hermione knew her and at the same time she didn’t.

A part of Hermione had accepted this fact a long time ago but now, being in Fleur’s presence again, a rebellious part of her wanted to remind her that burying the past didn’t mean they didn’t have one.

“Your control over your thrall is impressive. When did that happen?” Hermione asked.

“Control improves with age but I also spent a lot of time with a ‘ealer. A Veela. She taught me.”

Fleur offered a faint smile but no further explanation. Hermione looked away, annoyed by that smile, but after a while she felt herself lulled by the gentle movements of their dance. She told herself that there was no point in not trying to enjoy herself. That was part of the original plan for tonight, wasn’t it?

Unexpectedly, Fleur said, “I am sorry for missing your wedding, ‘Ermione. I… would’ve asked for a dance if...”

When she turned back to Fleur, she saw regret in her expression. Did the blonde remember that conversation about a dance, too? The one which happened a month before Ron proposed. Did Fleur remember all of their conversations the way Hermione did?

_Hermione slipped off the couch onto the floor and laughed at Fleur’s latest story of dealing with an enthralled suitor while on the job. She’d been at Shell Cottage for hours, first dinner and then after dinner wine and conversation that carried on long into the night. It was early December and cold, the fire burning softly in the hearth, and Bill was away on a work trip so they were alone. It had been about a year and a half since she graduated from Hogwarts and it wasn’t often that she got to hang out at Fleur’s house, just the two of them. Usually they would meet out somewhere, or share meals back at her flat. There were difficult memories here at Shell Cottage but also good ones and the salt in the air felt cleansing. It was also nice seeing traces of the blonde in all the decorative touches of her home._

_“So then what happened?” asked Hermione, finally catching her breath._

_“Well, ‘is wife finally noticed.”_

_“Uh oh.”_

_“And I was concerned she would turn her ire on me, as wives usually do, but this one was smart. She knew it wasn’t my doing and she grabbed ‘im and slapped ‘im.”_

_Hermione lost it again, giggling and almost missing her glass of wine as she reached for it on the coffee table._

_“She dragged ‘im away without another word.”_

_“Thank goodness he didn’t touch you, though,” said Hermione, taking a long sip and finishing her glass._

_“Oui. I would ‘ave ‘exed the shit out of ‘im.”_

_Hermione laughed lightly then smiled fondly at her friend, who smirked back at her._

_“How did you have such control with all those sex-crazed idiots back at Hogwarts?”_

_“I didn’t. You and I didn’t exactly run in the same circles so you probably don’t know but I ‘ad to ‘ex many a student before they got the message. It wasn’t enough to say I ‘ad a girlfriend. Well, for parts of the year anyway.”_

_At the mention of Fleur’s ex, the girl before Bill, Hermione felt a strange tightness in her chest and her tongue suddenly felt thick in her mouth. Shaking it off, she forced a smile._

_“I’m so sorry for how they harassed you.”_

_“It’s all right. By the Yule Ball, I ‘ad it managed. Roger Davies was a pleasant enough date and got me to forget Simone for a little while.”_

_Again, the ex-girlfriend. Hermione already knew the story, of how it had been a tempestuous off-again, on-again type of relationship, of how Simone was in the same year as Fleur but had stayed behind at Beauxbatons, and of how Simone had not been her first girlfriend but had been her first lover. Just thinking the word made Hermione uncomfortable and she decided to focus on the reference to the Yule Ball. She felt warm remembering how Fleur looked back then._

_The wine loosened her tongue and she said, “You were very beautiful that night.”_

_Fleur smiled coyly and answered, “I wish we’d known each other then. I would’ve asked you to dance.”_

_She took another sip of her wine, feeling the heat of the alcohol and the heat of the idea of dancing with the most desirable girl at Hogwarts that year. Her attention wandered to the radio which Fleur had turned on earlier and “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” started playing. Both women enjoyed old pop songs and standards and the current one had been a favorite love song of Hermione’s parents. Despite its sad meaning, her parents would often dance to it while preparing meals or just because, and as a child she’d dreamed of dancing to it with her own future spouse. An image came to her mind now and curiously, her imagined partner did not have red hair._

_Ignoring the blush rising up her neck, Hermione voiced a wish that had lingered in the back of her mind for a few years now, never thinking she’d ever have cause to bring it up. It didn’t mean anything, just a random thought that would pop into her head now and then. But given the topic, she figured it would fit in with the joke. If Fleur balked, she would just blame the wine._

_“And I wish I had asked for a dance at your wedding. Before the whole Ministry falling and everything.”_

_“Well, who wants to dance after that?” Fleur quipped before looking away, eyeing her glass of wine._

_Hermione chuckled and finished off her wine and hoped she hadn’t made her friend feel awkward. She got up off the floor and fell back onto the couch, keeping her gaze on the blonde._

_Fleur turned back to Hermione, an odd look in her eyes._

_“We could dance now,” she replied in a low voice. The blonde smiled, trying to maintain the lightheartedness of their earlier conversation, but it didn’t change her eyes and the brunette was captivated by the mystery in them._

_Hermione didn’t know why her heart started beating so hard. Fleur’s thrall felt strange, tentative, almost like a confused eagerness but there was something else, something small in the background and it was sharp and prickly. Was that fear? It didn’t feel like the fear she’d sensed during the last battle at Hogwarts. And yet, it reminded her of it. Why would Fleur be afraid? If Hermione had been more sober she would’ve been able to figure it out. Instead the wine dulled her senses and she couldn’t be sure she was correct about how Fleur’s thrall felt. Hermione became flustered. The blonde wasn’t supposed to respond like this, she was supposed to laugh. Then Hermione would laugh and they would gaze affectionately at each other and that would be that. Weren’t they just joking around? Was this a tease? She closed her eyes and felt the dizziness in her head._

_Instead of answering, she said, “I think I’m too intoxicated to apparate home.”_

_When she opened her eyes, Fleur was standing up and gesturing towards Hermione to follow._

_“Come, the guest room is waiting.” The thrall was soft like a blanket now and it felt nice. Whatever confusion Fleur had been feeling was gone._

_Hermione stood up and followed her friend up the stairs until she reached the room that she had stayed in after Malfoy Manor. The blonde walked in and helped prepare the bed. Hermione felt embarrassed for some reason. And very hot. She remembered cuddling with Fleur in this bed during one of her nightmares while she was recovering from her torture. When the Veela turned to her, Hermione thought she caught a light blush but she couldn’t be sure and she blamed the wine. Fleur wished her goodnight with a light kiss on her cheek and quickly exited the room, leaving Hermione behind, feeling like she had missed something._

When Hermione felt the ghost of a cheek brush against her own, she blinked out of her memories and realized how much closer she was now to the Frenchwoman. Her arms were wrapped around the woman’s shoulders and she could feel the linked hands on her lower back. They were swaying together rather than following any formal dance steps.

Seeking distance, she said, “We should probably talk about… um… what we’ll be… I mean… I made a list in my mind…”

Hermione gestured to the bed and Fleur’s eyes twinkled.

“A thoroughly researched list, I am sure,” Fleur teased. Hermione tried to pull out of the dance but the blonde held on tightly. “We don’t ‘ave to talk about that now, though.”

An arched eyebrow made the brunette suck in a breath, an image coming to her of a naked Fleur, sweaty and waiting for the next thing Hermione wanted to try.

“So, do you often have to travel for these types of engagements?” Hermione rushed out, trying to regain some power by referencing Fleur’s occupation.

A prolonged silence made Hermione frown. Glancing up, she saw how the Veela wouldn’t look at her. The brunette released a slow breath, realizing in disappointment what that look meant.

“How long have you been back?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“About four months now,” the blonde replied quietly. “Currently I’m a freelance curse-breaking consultant for Gringotts but they ‘ave recently offered a full-time position and I am negotiating the terms.”

Fleur’s mouth was open as if she wanted to say more but then she closed it. Hermione fumed with several bitter retorts on the tip of her tongue, wanting to admonish her former friend for not getting in touch with her, for being so close and her not knowing it. The thought of Ginny knowing and not telling her hurt, too. She was definitely going to have words with the redhead.

Incredibly, Hermione stayed silent, letting Fleur’s obvious guilt be enough to placate her anger.

Their dance became stiff again but Hermione actually welcomed it. She’d gotten too comfortable and needed to remember that this didn’t mean anything to the blonde.

“I’m sorry, ‘Ermione,” Fleur whispered.

Hermione didn’t say anything. Fleur’s apology wasn’t enough and she’d be damned if she was going to do anything to help the woman’s guilt ease.

“I’m sorry for everything. For…”

“Stop,” said Hermione firmly, shaking her head. “No past, remember? Your rule.”

Fleur sighed. “I was nervous when I said that, I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I still might.”

“I would probably deserve it.”

“Fleur,” Hermione breathed out. As angry as she was, she would never wish true harm on her former friend.

“Fine. But perhaps acknowledging some of our ‘istory would ‘elp. It would make it better for the both of us, non?”

“I thought tension was supposed to be good for sex,” quipped Hermione, inwardly questioning why she was suddenly fighting against addressing their fallout.

The Frenchwoman laughed. “I suppose that is true. But resentment and anger aren’t really what you’re looking for tonight, are they?”

“And yet you showed up anyway,” snapped Hermione, but then she felt bad at the hurt that passed over Fleur’s face. She added sadly, “Besides, I doubt there are many safe subjects for us to discuss.”

“Yes, well, why don’t we start with something you likely would ‘ave brought up?”

“Such as?”

“Such as your current experience level. My understanding is you’ve never been with a woman. Is that really true?”

“Oh,” Hermione squeaked out of her suddenly dry throat. She blushed and nodded, looking away.

“I’m surprised.”

Hermione turned sharply to her and stopped swaying to the music.

Giving a soft smile in an apparent attempt to calm Hermione, Fleur continued, “You never mentioned you liked women. I’d spoken of Simone a few times, including the couple of short-term girlfriends before ‘er, and you never said anything.”

“I didn’t know then.”

“Ah, a recent revelation, ‘ence the inexperience. Is it only women you’re attracted to?”

Hermione clenched her jaw and heard the unspoken questions. Had she loved Ron? Had she married him knowing she wasn’t attracted to men?

“Yes, only women. And… I realized it about a year and a half ago.”

Fleur’s jaw tightened in response. The blonde stared at her for a long time and Hermione straightened, defying Fleur to point out how long she had stayed with Ron after realizing her sexuality before finally leaving him, to bring up that ‘about a year and a half ago’ was when the New Year’s Eve party occurred. She could tell the blonde had done the mental math. But she stayed silent and roughly pulled Hermione against her and began leading her into another slow dance.

“That must’ve been difficult for you.” Her voice was ragged, her jaw still clenched and now Hermione could see how the Veela was trying to hold back.

“You have no idea,” whispered Hermione, turning her face away to fight against the temptation to lean in and press up against Fleur.

She could feel her anger coiled between them and she was grateful for the blonde’s restraint. It helped her bite her own tongue. And dancing with Fleur, being engulfed by her perfume and the memories of missed chances, it was better than yelling at her.

“Have you been with anyone since Bill?” Hermione asked suddenly. She winced. “I mean, of course you have. Escort, right? What I mean to say is for yourself.”

When she glanced at the blonde, she caught the other woman biting her lip.

“A few,” replied Fleur softly, staring into Hermione’s eyes.

The brunette wanted her to elaborate. She felt the questions bubbling up in her chest as well as a stab of jealousy but she pushed it down. It wasn’t any of her business. Hermione knew full well the pain and loneliness that came with divorce. It had gotten so bad for her one night a few months back, she found herself at a wizarding club and had gone home with a man. She knew that she would not find release with him, that she didn’t like men, but he was friendly and she was angry at herself for chickening out at the last second with the short-haired blonde witch that had been chatting her up. He was nice enough but it had gone the way it had always gone with Ron and when it was over, she felt terrible for not being true to herself. Afterwards, he wouldn’t stop babbling about landing the Golden Girl and asking questions about Harry. Hermione had felt sick to her stomach and promptly gathered her things and left. She never mentioned it to anyone, not even Ginny, and that was when she began her research on paid escorts.

Fleur cleared her throat and said, “It wasn’t serious with them. Temporary escapes, that’s all.”

It was not anything that Fleur needed to explain but somehow it made Hermione feel better.

They danced quietly for a couple of songs and Hermione stepped in closer until they were practically hugging, her head again resting on Fleur’s shoulder, her face nestled in the woman’s neck. Hermione liked this. As infuriating as the whole situation was, the familiarity was comforting. But this wasn’t just a reunion with someone she’d lost touch with. This was Fleur Delacour. The woman who wouldn’t leave her thoughts no matter how hard she had tried. The woman she’d fallen in love with before she even knew she liked women. The woman she still...

The song changed and Hermione decided the universe hated her. “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” began to play and the pang of longing hurt her chest in a way she hadn’t felt since realizing Fleur was never going to write her back.

Her arms tightened around Fleur and she spoke before she could talk herself out of it.

“I missed you, Fleur.”

They weren’t soft words. Hermione could hear the recrimination in them, the bitterness. She did miss her and she hated herself for doing so.

“I know, chérie. I know.”

The brunette heard the sob that was choked underneath Fleur’s reply, the apology, and it broke her to hear the emotion in it. To hear that Fleur was just as broken as she was by what happened.

 _They said some day you’ll find  
_ _All who love are blind_  
_When your heart’s on fire, you must realize  
_ _Smoke gets in your eyes_

Hermione buried her face further into Fleur’s neck, listening to the song and fighting back her tears. She distracted herself by nuzzling the blonde with her nose, lips only a hair’s breadth away from starting something. Fleur’s grip on her back tightened and her thrall slowly made itself known. Hermione’s chest burned with relief, glad to know she wasn’t the only one losing herself in emotion. Turning her attention to what the Veela was feeling, she sensed a conflict between desire and sadness.

All too quickly the song ended and in the next song Fleur took her hands and twirled her around. Hermione let out a wet laugh and allowed herself to shake off the melancholy and enjoy being silly. They spun and giggled, and let the make-believe last a little longer. They were friends again, they joked and teased, and tried to outdo each other with dance moves completely inappropriate to the tempo of the songs being played. She didn’t know how many songs they danced to like this but she wanted it to last forever. And when Fleur pulled her back in, Hermione effortlessly locked arms around her neck and kissed her.

At first Fleur didn’t respond but then Hermione felt hands move along her back and soft lips open against her own. Just like before, it was so easy to give into this and playfulness quickly turned into heat. Fleur wanted her, she could feel it in her touch and through her thrall. She slid a hand under Fleur’s shirt and settled it on the skin of her lower back. The Veela stiffened but then started trailing kisses down her neck.

Just as Fleur’s lips recaptured her own, Hermione suddenly felt the edge of the bed against the backs of her legs. _When did we move over here?_

Strangely enough, she didn’t panic at what she considered a logical progression from the initiated kiss. They were both adults and this was what they’d agreed to. However, a logical progression didn’t mean her heart didn’t hurt at the feelings she now felt through Fleur’s thrall. And Merlin, she wasn’t ready for how much this hurt. The first kiss on the couch had been a seduction, Fleur tempting her undecided self with possibilities only for it to turn into a type of catharsis for the both of them, a fulfillment of what might have been if Hermione had gotten out of her head long enough that New Year’s Eve and kissed her like she’d wanted. This kiss held a different kind of weight. Intent, yes, but it was almost like Fleur was fighting some internal battle. There was yearning but also evasion, pleasure but also guilt. What was the Veela hiding? Underneath all of it was a restrained hunger, as if the blonde had been wanting this for years but was trying to hold it back. It wasn’t fair to feel this coming from the other woman. Not after everything. It muddled her resolve to be okay with only having her for one night. To be okay with this not being any more real than a surface level attraction that allowed Fleur’s Veela to fulfill this job’s contract.

She needed more time. Just a bit more time to steel herself against all of her wanting.

“Ice,” Hermione breathed out just as Fleur gently pushed her to sit on the bed.

Fleur sighed in between kisses, seeming to hear something else, murmuring ‘mmm nice’ and pushing her back to lie on the bed, shaky hands reaching for the buttons on her blouse. The thrall became thin and uncertain. Blue eyes avoided hers. It didn’t feel right and it gave Hermione another reason to hit pause.

“Ice!” Hermione yelled, hands pushing Fleur back. She sat up, glancing down to find her blouse was still buttoned.

“What? What is it?” asked Fleur, confused.

Hermione reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the room key and her phone, then rushed to the door. Then she remembered she wasn’t wearing shoes and stumbled over to near the coffee table to slip them on.

“We need ice for drinks, just in case.” _Yes, this is a reasonable excuse_ , Hermione thought as she practically ran to the door.

“’Ermione.”

“I had a gin and tonic before you got here and I might want another.” _I also need to yell at Ginny._

“’Ermione, wait…”

“And maybe you’ll want one, too.” Hermione opened the door. _Yell at her very loudly._

“’Ermione, you’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“The ice bucket,” Fleur responded with a forced smile and pointed to the table.

“Right. Yes. Good call,” the brunette stammered, tripping over her feet as she went to grab the bucket. Now she was ready for her escape. She threw one more glance at the Veela, who had her hands clenched into fists and her brow furrowed. Hermione gave a weak nod as a sort of apology and fled the room.

_::_

Fleur watched Hermione run out, trying to keep herself from chasing after her. She could’ve offered to use a spell to conjure the ice but she held back due to how flustered the brunette looked; she also noticed the purse and wand the witch left behind so it wasn’t as if Hermione was leaving completely. The blonde decided the other witch just needed time alone. Thinking about their night so far, they were making progress after some initial stops and starts. Dancing had worked out better than she’d hoped. The brunette warred with herself as she tried to figure out Fleur’s angle but eventually she softened and began to respond to her efforts. Hermione had even kissed her without prompting, although she scolded herself for not being as relaxed as she could’ve been.

In fact, she was glad the other witch thought of an excuse to leave the room because Fleur needed to calm herself. Having fun like that, remembering how it used to be, only to be kissed and reminded of what was expected of her tonight, she couldn’t summon that earlier resolve to draw out Hermione’s passion. Instead she felt the guilt rising within her at the deception, and had to focus on preventing the brunette from sensing it. Moving her to the bed yet reluctant to even undo the buttons on Hermione’s shirt, Fleur just didn’t know if she could go through with it.

 _A year and a half ago_. The words echoed in her mind. Could it be that Hermione’s revelation about her sexuality happened at the same time Fleur realized her love for the witch? Had she missed more than a potential kiss that night?

The Veela looked around the room and went to the food. Nibbling on some bread and grapes, she tried to remain patient, silently repeating to herself her earlier reasons for why this was the best course of action, why she shouldn’t dwell on what might have happened in the past. Even if Hermione had felt something back then, something that prompted a life change, Fleur had ruined it. The only things left in the brunette’s heart for her were reproach and reluctant attraction.

A text alert broke the silence. Another one right after that prompted Fleur to go to her handbag and dig out her phone. The messages were from Ginny.

_[Ginny] Why does Hermione think you’re an escort?_

_[Ginny] call me right now_

_Merde_. Hermione called Ginny and now everything was going to fall apart. Fleur quickly hit call on Ginny’s number and hoped the redhead hadn’t given her away.

“Fleur? You’re an idiot. Give me a minute.” That was all Ginny said before she put Fleur on hold. She came back on the line a minute later.

“Merlin’s balls, I’m at the Burrow for a party, I don’t need this. Why are you pretending to be an escort? That wasn’t what you were supposed to do.”

“I know.”

“Both of you… so mental,” muttered Ginny so softly that Fleur barely understood the words.

“I panicked, Ginny, all right? It’s just better this way. She doesn’t really want what I want. Please tell me you didn’t say anything.”

There was another silence.

When she came back, Ginny said, “I don’t think I said anything but…”

“But…”

“But she’s smart and like I said, you’re an idiot. Hang on.”

There was another silence and this time Fleur got the feeling Ginny wasn’t just dealing with party guests.

Beginning to worry, she leaned towards ending the call, but Ginny came back on the line.

“Right. This is a bloody mess. You went with a lie instead of telling her everything.”

“Ginny, I ‘ave to go.”

“This isn’t how you want to do this, Fleur. You’re going to ruin your chance again, just think –”

Fleur ended the call, powered off the phone, and put it back in her bag. Hermione would be back at any moment and she needed to think and brace herself for the younger witch’s potential wrath. So far, she’d only made vague responses to Hermione’s inquiries. They hadn’t been direct lies; she hadn’t actually said she was an escort. But she knew that would be a bullshit response if the brunette confronted her when she came back. Fleur could avoid it altogether by apparating to her flat but she’d been a coward for far too long. No matter what, she had to stay and play this out.

She heard the door’s locking mechanism unlatch. Fleur quietly watched a calmer looking Hermione enter the room and carry the full ice bucket to the table with the food. She also placed her phone and room key there. The flushed flustered look was gone but she didn’t look angry. In fact, it was difficult to get a read on her altogether. Fleur braced herself, quickly stifling her thrall.

“I thought maybe you ‘ad changed your mind,” Fleur said simply.

“No. I just wanted ice. Have you changed your mind?” Hermione looked at her with a pointed stare and she realized that the brunette was trying to feel for her thrall to get a sense for the truth. _Does Hermione know?_

“Non. I still want this if you do.”

“Okay. Now that that’s out of the way, I just have some clarifying questions about this transaction.”

It was not unfriendly but it wasn’t warm either and it set off additional warning bells in Fleur’s mind. _She knows, she knows._

In an even voice, and giving a relaxed smile, Fleur replied, “Ask away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting close to the end! Two more chapters to go. And I'm quite happy I will be able to stick with my intention to keep this under ten chapters. Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. the version of “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” used here is the one by the Platters


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Hermione sat nervously inside the café waiting for Fleur to arrive, watching the condensation collect on the two glasses of ice water the waiter had brought to her table. Yesterday had been such a flurry of excitement that it was only now that she had a moment to breathe. The news of her engagement was spreading fast amongst the Weasleys and she had made them swear not to tell Bill so that she could be the first to tell her friend._

_“’Ermione!” called out Fleur. Hermione turned and saw the blonde rushing through the café. Once she reached the table, she spoke again. “I’m so sorry I’m late. You would not believe the workload that ‘as fallen on my desk. Philips quit suddenly and Bill and I ‘ave no choice but to pick up the slack.”_

_The bookworm listened happily as her friend rambled on about work, removing her coat and scarf as she did so. Then Fleur settled into the seat across from her._

_After their lunches had been ordered, Hermione bit her lip, unsure how to start._

_“All right, tell me.”_

_“What?” asked Hermione with feigned innocence._

_Fleur laughed, a tinkling sound that never failed to send shivers down Hermione’s spine._

_“Whatever it is that’s on that lovely mind of yours, mon amie. It’s on the tip of your tongue, I can see it.”_

_“Ron proposed,” Hermione exclaimed. She cringed slightly. She’d meant to build up to it, not blurt it out like that, but still she smiled, waiting to see Fleur’s excited reaction._

_The Veela blinked slowly and murmured, “I’m sorry, what?”_

_“Ron proposed! Look!”_

_Hermione held out her left hand and she watched Fleur’s eyes settle like an anvil on the ring Ron had given her._

_The smile on her face slowly slipped as she registered the stunned expression on her friend’s face. She pulled her hand away and waited for a response._

_“That’s…” Fleur started, then swallowed hard. “That’s wonderful news. Bill and I ‘ad wondered when Ronald would finally work up ‘is nerve.”_

_Fleur sipped her water and Hermione could tell something was off. It took a few seconds for her to figure it out. The thrall. It was gone. Normally it was a warmth that was so quintessentially Fleur, Hermione welcomed it every time they were together. It was just always there so its absence now was jarring. Glancing at her friend, she saw the slight furrow in her brow, the stiffness in her countenance, like she was concentrating._

_The Veela was hiding her thrall from her._

_Her friend hadn’t done this since early on in their friendship when they were still getting to know one another, still learning how to open up and be comfortable in each other’s presence. Hermione noted that Fleur was getting better at hiding the effort it took to suppress her thrall._

_“It is wonderful, isn’t it, Fleur?” Hermione inquired cautiously._

_“Of course, ‘Ermione. Marriage is the ultimate commitment, a promise that means forever, only to be made when you are absolutely certain that you will never want it to end. You two ‘ave been through so much, your love ‘as endured so much, you deserve this ‘appiness. And I’m ‘appy for you.”_

_There was a strange look on Fleur’s face as she spoke and Hermione was reminded of a long-ago conversation they’d had about the blonde’s first boyfriend, how she’d cheated on him, and how strictly she viewed honor and keeping one’s word afterwards. Hermione had teased her back then about the view not leaving much room for human frailty and forgiving one’s mistakes but here again was the same rigidity and seriousness. She didn’t need a lecture; she fully understood what she was agreeing to by accepting Ron’s proposal._

_Choosing to focus on Fleur’s last words instead of delving into her friend’s odd behavior, Hermione smiled and launched into the story of how Ron had asked and then jumped into discussing possible wedding dates. Her friend smiled and nodded and asked questions but it never reached the comfort level they always had in their get-togethers. Not once did Fleur yield in her control over her thrall._

_At the end of lunch, they hugged each other tightly, almost too tightly. Hermione felt a question begin to form but Fleur was in a hurry and she decided whatever was bothering her could wait until their next lunch date._

Hermione hurried down the hallway, looking for the ice machine and tapping out a quick message to Ginny to call her. It was tempting to leave. To just leave Fleur and all of this confusion behind.

Finding the ice machine, Hermione took a moment to catch her breath. She became aggravated by the lack of immediate response from Ginny. She sent another message.

_[Hermione] Ginevra Potter if you don’t call me right now I will track you down wherever you are and create a howler right in front of your face!_

Her mobile started ringing and she quickly answered.

“Hermione, I can’t talk long. Party at the Burrow. So, are you and Fleur working it all out?”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t expected Ginny to name Fleur right away or sound so smug. She thought there would be some waffling and excuses. And ‘working it out’? What?

Finding her words, the bookworm launched into an angry tirade. “You have a lot of nerve hiring Fleur Delacour without first consulting me. I spoke to you and gave you those preferences in strictest confidence, not for you to use your knowledge of her escort job for some misguided attempt to satisfy whatever it is you thought I wanted. I told you what I wanted and it wasn’t this.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, what?”

Hermione ignored how Ginny’s surprise made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She was too angry to really think about why her friend was surprised like that.

“You heard me, Ginny. This is completely unacceptable. Does Harry know?”

“No, he doesn’t know. I promised not to tell, remember? Only who I needed to in order to make this happen.”

The brunette growled, hating how she had let that particular loophole slide.

“Like you kept your promise to her to not tell me she was back in town?” Hermione accused. “Guess I know where our friendship stands.”

“You know what? It’s not easy being friends with you two idiots. The bloody two of you… you with your feelings and her with… ugh, hang on.”

There was silence for several seconds and then Ginny came back. “You’re an idiot, Granger.”

“You already said that… wait, who else are you talking to?”

“Burrow, remember? You’re not the only idiot I have to yell at tonight.”

“Some friend you are. You knew how nervous I was about this. And now I’m hiding out in the hallway and she’s in my room right now and I don’t know what to do about it… Ginny… are you even there?”

There was a longer silence and Hermione started pacing as she waited for Ginny to return.

“Hello? Look, I’m sorry. I thought since you were obviously talking about Fleur that this would be okay.”

“Well it’s not! It’s worse. You don’t know, Ginny. You don’t know what I went through.” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

She was put on hold again but Hermione was glad for it. Memories and heartache washed over her and she distracted herself by emptying the bucket’s melted contents and then filling it with ice. How was she going to handle going back to her room? She didn’t know but she slowly began walking back down the hallway.

“Hermione?”

“Yeah?” she responded, walking even slower, holding the phone tightly to her ear as if everything her friend had to say would help her with her decision.

“Right, so the way I see it is you have two choices. Get it all off your chest or shut up and forever hold your peace.”

“It’s not a wedding.”

“When else are you going to get this chance, Hermione?” Ginny scolded. “I don’t know everything that happened but I do think she did a shitty thing by shutting you out, and I know you needed to tell her how you felt but you didn’t get to. You two need to talk. And once it’s all out in the open, then you two should definitely fuck.”

There was a pregnant pause and then they both laughed at the brazen advice the redhead had just given. As the laughter faded, Hermione came to a stop in front of her hotel room door. She thought of Fleur’s last attempt at bringing up their fallout and how easily she had thwarted it with a few choice words. If Fleur really wanted to get into it, the woman would’ve pushed harder.

“She doesn’t want to talk. Not really,” Hermione admitted quietly.

“Yes, she does.” The reply was quick and assured. A little too assured.

“What do you mean? What do you know?”

Again, the hairs rose on the back of her neck. She looked at the dark brown door in front of her, her stomach flipping at the thought of Fleur waiting for her on the other side. Ginny didn’t mean…

“You’ll figure it out, don’t let her get away with it, all right? Tell her how you feel. You’ll regret it otherwise. You’ll regret it forever.”

The line disconnected before she could interrogate Ginny about her cryptic phrasing. What did she mean? Figure what out? Not let Fleur get away with what?

Hermione took steady breaths, pushing away her frustration to focus on what she knew so far.

Ginny knew more than what she could reveal, probably a promise she had to keep. Ginny and Fleur arranged this so it stood to reason that it was a promise to Fleur. Fleur was an escort but didn’t seem forthcoming with details specific to her job. She was actively hiding something, Hermione could sense it through her thrall, and it was more than just hiding feelings. _Don’t let her get away with it._ Ginny was hinting at something; she said Fleur wanted to talk. The redhead also sounded surprised at what she’d said at the beginning of the call.

Was this a joke after all? If it was it was a very bad one considering how far Fleur had taken it.

What if she’s not a… _Ridiculous. Fleur wouldn’t pretend something like that._

_But what if she did? Oh Merlin, what if she did?_

Gripping the bucket under her arm, the phone in that hand and her room key in the other, she slipped the key in the lock and entered the room. She saw Fleur over by the coffee table and those blue eyes were watching her intently as she crossed the room to the table where the food was and set the ice bucket down. A beat later and she put her phone and room key next to the bucket.

“I thought maybe you ‘ad changed your mind,” Fleur said.

“No. I just wanted ice. Have you changed your mind?” Hermione kept a neutral expression, not wanting to show how much Fleur’s answer meant to her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the Veela. The thrall was gone again. Fleur was hiding from her. There could be many reasons for it but only one rang true given what Ginny had let slip.

“Non. I still want this if you do.”

“Okay. Now that that’s out of the way, I just have some clarifying questions about this transaction.”

_There. Was that a flinch? Why a flinch if this was her job? It’s a flinch because this is all a lie!_

“Ask away.”

Fleur looked so unflappable and, as if to prove she was unbothered by Hermione’s demeanor, she sat down on the couch. Hermione couldn’t help a slight eyeroll. If Fleur was so unbothered, she wouldn’t be hiding her thrall right now and that fact spoke volumes. But Hermione didn’t say anything. She slipped off her shoes, moved to the stereo to turn it off, then walked towards the door to wandlessly reinforce the silencing wards. When that was done she turned around and nearly chose to go sit next to Fleur but in the end decided to remain standing and walked to the food. After eating a few grapes and a bite of cheese, she turned to face Fleur and cocked her head.

“Is there anything you won’t do?”

Fleur smirked. “Several things. Anything specific in mind?”

Hermione resisted the urge to huff and quickly threw away that line of questioning. It obviously wasn’t the right tactic to throw the blonde off balance and she realized she would be the ruffled one if she had to guess which acts were out of Fleur’s comfort zone.

“My understanding is that you’ve been paid for the full night?”

“I will stay for the full night.”

“If I wanted… to continue things into the morning… would that be more? And if so, should I arrange for payment now or tomorrow?”

“Just tell Ginny, she’ll know what to do.”

Hermione pursed her lips at the mention of Ginny as their go-between but she paid more attention to the semantics of Fleur’s answers. Fleur had carefully worded her replies to avoid a direct lie, but they were still enough to support the deception, and this coupled with the suppressed thrall had been exactly what she was looking for.

_Fleur is not an escort._

Looking around the suite, this suite she had selected for the purpose of having sex with an escort, Hermione wanted to laugh at the situation she found herself in. She should just confront Fleur. She should ask for the truth, yell at her for breaking her heart, then kick her out of the room and never speak to her again. Crossing over to the bed, she pulled back the blankets and moved to sit down on the foot of the bed.

“Should we get started then?” Hermione asked, her tone a challenge. The cacophony from the arguments in her mind threatened to cause a headache but she managed to focus on one thing: knowing that Fleur was lying about this didn’t stop her from wanting to see how far the Veela would take the lie. Could Fleur really go through with this?

_Can I?_

Hermione told herself going along with it had nothing to do with wanting to kiss her again, or feel Fleur’s desire for her, or pretend that that desire was love.

She told herself this but she also knew there was more than one liar in the room.

Fleur stood up from the couch and took a few steps towards the bed then stopped.

“I should tell you something first and maybe you already know, but given what you said earlier about keeping emotions out of it, I would be remiss if I didn’t say that although I am able to control my thrall in most situations nowadays, I am unable to do so when things get ‘eated. Ordinarily this would be nothing but we both know you feel it differently. You already felt it in our kisses, oui?”

“Yes.” Hermione blinked and felt her muscles relax at the honesty in the blonde’s words.

“It will be more while we –”

“I see,” Hermione interrupted, maintaining eye contact and fighting the heat rising up her neck. “Did you ask your healer why I can feel you the way I do?”

“No. It is known some non-Veela ‘ave that ability. I never told you but it is… an extremely rare thing. I will ask about something else, though, when I next visit France.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your aura.”

At this, Hermione blushed, embarrassed at the direction this conversation had taken. She had wanted to put Fleur on the spot and the blonde had turned it around on her.

“I never thought I would see it, for obvious reasons, but you never said it could ‘appen during a kiss.”

“It never has before,” muttered Hermione.

Fleur straightened slightly and one corner of her mouth twitched. No one else would have noticed but Hermione did, and the preening she saw irritated her.

“And ‘as anyone ever seen it?”

Hermione felt the red burn across her skin, her breaths now erratic. She didn’t like that Fleur had guessed this. It was bad enough that she had admitted as much to Ginny. Instead of speaking, the brunette shook her head and stared at the floor. Feeling the dip in the mattress, she avoided looking at the woman next to her but the blonde still reached for her hand and held it firmly.

“We both know that those most in tune with their magic can sense the power in others. We’ve both experienced that around magical beings and objects. It is not unusual. But I ‘ave never felt it the way I did when I kissed you. You always felt different. Even early on in our acquaintance at Shell Cottage, my thrall clung to you in ways it’s never done with anyone else.”

“Fleur…” Having Fleur’s hand in hers, hearing her admit things she’d long suspected, a lump grew in her throat and she didn’t know what to say. This sounded more like her Fleur, the one she desperately missed, and feeling her hand in hers was making her greedy for more.

“In that first kiss, I felt your magic pull me towards you. I felt it opening to me. I think my thrall joined with your magic, ‘Ermione. I felt such colors. And I could almost sense what you were feeling. I know you are attracted to me. As I am to you.”

She turned to look at her former friend. Her piercing blue eyes darted down to her lap; her teeth were worrying her lower lip. Not only had she sounded like her Fleur but now she looked like her, too. Hermione squeezed Fleur’s hand, appreciating the vulnerability and honesty being shown to her finally.

“I did feel it. Your thrall has always been something that surrounds me. But kissing you that first time, I felt like it was a part of me. Inside me. I felt you giving in, like you had more to show me. That’s partly why I stopped it. It was… overwhelming.”

“It’ll be like that when we make love, ‘Ermione. The thrall is stronger when I…” Fleur cleared her throat, lifted her chin to face Hermione once again and whispered, “I ‘ave never known or slept with anyone who feels it as you do. And given what we felt with just a kiss, I expect it’ll be even more intense. Nothing will be ‘idden.”

It was a warning; Fleur was giving her an out if she found the prospect of being completely exposed with one another to be too much. But Hermione also heard another implication, saw the hope in those blue eyes. It was more proof that there was more going on than this escort charade. And the way she’d said ‘make love’ instead of sex. That wasn’t what this was supposed to be, but Fleur had firmly said it with purpose and not as a throwaway.

Her heart squeezed in her chest. _Nothing will be hidden._ What was Fleur telling her? Did Fleur know she knew?

“I know,” Hermione replied, her eyes likely giving away the extra meaning in her words.

“And you still want this?”

 _More than anything._ “It’s what I’m paying for, isn’t it?”

She didn’t have to rub salt in the wound that Fleur had willingly opened but Hermione wouldn’t let her forget that being honest about one thing didn’t make up for the lie that was still being told. It served as Hermione’s reminder as well.

Fleur smiled ruefully, accepting the bookworm’s consent for what it was. There was a tightness around the eyes, a searching, but Hermione could tell the blonde was looking within herself and not really at her. She marked the time by counting Fleur’s breaths, letting her eyes fully take in the other woman’s face. Whatever it was Fleur was thinking about, she appeared to come to a decision. The Veela leaned forward to press soft lips on hers. It was a caress, not quite a kiss, as if Fleur was just reveling in the contact. Then the blonde sighed and pulled back.

“I ‘ave to tell you something,” Fleur breathed against her mouth.

“Shut up,” Hermione whispered harshly. The words slipped out without thought. She was suddenly angered by what was likely to be a confession. The brunette ignored the fact that it was only a few moments ago that she wanted to see how far Fleur would take this before admitting the truth. What should’ve been a relief that the Veela wanted to come clean before things went further than a kiss was replaced by disappointment at the prospect of stopping so soon.

The blonde closed her eyes and nodded, her thrall roiling before flattening into a still coldness. Her submission only made Hermione even more furious. She wanted to yell, to scream at her for giving her up. _You said we would be friends. We were supposed to always be friends._

Instead, Hermione took a breath and slowly exhaled, finally acknowledging to herself why she kept avoiding the blow-up her rage kept pushing her towards. Oh she’d snapped at her and had been mean but she’d found excuses to avoid going further than that. With new clarity, she remembered that before she’d opened the door she had decided not to go through with it, telling herself that she was worried about objectifying and fetishizing whoever the Veela was on the other side of the door. But that wasn’t the only reason she’d been about to call it off. Ginny was right. A fantasy wouldn’t have been enough. Hermione had wanted the real thing. She’d wanted Fleur.

She raised a hand to cup Fleur’s cheek, giving her attention to the feel of her skin, and noticing how the touch seemed to soften the woman’s thrall. Then she waited for Fleur to open her eyes. When she did, the sorrow in them sent a pang through the bookworm’s chest for her harsh words. After all this time, she was still so hopelessly in love with this woman. This woman who had cracked her heart open, making her face her true self and recognize the love that lived within, a love that had started to grow as far back as that broken time at Shell Cottage. The hardened walls fell from her heart piece by piece with each new change in her life, from acceptance of her sexuality to the decision to leave Ron. But Fleur never came back to help the new flesh heal into something strong and whole. Instead, all these months her heart lay open, raw, battered. So, yes, a part of her would find satisfaction in getting this angry weight off her chest because she was still absolutely furious with the Veela. But she set it aside for now, overruled by the other part of her that wanted better memories to remember her by. One last good night, wasn’t that what Hermione had given her that New Year’s Eve? If Fleur was willing to give that back in return, then she wanted it. She wanted…

Hermione sighed and rested her forehead against Fleur’s in apology and was glad to feel a hand come to rest atop her hand that was still on the blonde’s cheek.

 _Nothing will be hidden_. The words bore a path into Hermione’s heart. A hint, a warning, a promise. What would she discover? She already knew Fleur wanted her; she’d said she was attracted to her. What else did Fleur want her to know? This escort foolishness, obviously, but more, there was more. Ginny told her to confess her feelings. But she was afraid. Every unanswered letter had been a knife slashing through their friendship. Another rejection like that would be unbearable.

And yet, now that she was allowing these feelings room to breathe, room to infiltrate her hopes and build her longing, she was beginning to see all the loose threads that Fleur and Ginny had laid out for her. If she pulled one, what would happen?

Trepidation crawled over her skin as she leaned forward to give Fleur a tender kiss of her own. When their lips touched, she paused to see if Fleur would pull away. She didn’t. Willing lips parted and slid against hers, and when she felt Fleur’s hands move up to cup her face, Hermione could feel her trembling fingers on her cheeks.

“I’m nervous, too,” admitted Hermione softly. “I don’t want to be bad at this. But also…”

Hermione gulped. Maybe Ginny was right about this, too. Maybe she needed to be honest. To stop with her selfishness and give Fleur a chance, or an out if that’s what she wanted.

“But also,” she repeated, “Everything you said was true. I do want this. I’ve wanted this with you since even before I knew what it meant. Tonight will mean something to me. You mean something to me.”

Fleur blew out a long breath through her nose, letting her hands move down to wrap arms around her waist. Her thrall was tickling her skin now and the excitement she felt in the blonde was palpable.

“You could never be bad at this. Can’t you feel it? You already make me feel so much. I never thought you could ever…” Fleur stopped and took a deep breath, lips curling into a small smile. “I also ‘ave wanted this. For longer than you know.”

It was a small exchange, different from the night’s initial teasing, Hermione’s bursts of anger, the pretense they put on during their dance, and all the other ways each of them had tried to keep their distance. It felt like how it used to be between them, when one expressed a worry and the other offered assurances. Only now the other woman’s words hooked low in her stomach, and she felt her arousal pool under her skin, centering between her legs. Fleur had admitted it out loud; she wanted her and had long wanted her. The thrall felt thick and hot and it hovered, waiting for Hermione to make the next move.

Her heart clenched. Fleur wasn’t an escort, she’d come here to talk, and she kissed her with so much yearning. Hermione’s eyes widened as she stared back at Fleur.

The Frenchwoman nodded knowingly and pulled her closer. She pressed small kisses around Hermione’s cheeks and the corners of her mouth.

“Fleur…” stammered Hermione, still grappling with what this meant. Her hands moved to grab the back of Fleur’s neck.

“’Ermione,” choked out Fleur. And in a whisper, “Do you want to stop? We can talk. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Words spilled out in hurried gasps. “I don’t want to stop. It’s crazy but I don’t. But you don’t have to do this. You’re in no way obligated –”

“That’s not what this is. I want you, ‘Ermione. I want you.”

They were both shaking with barely held restraint now. The tension built like a crescendo, their faces flushed with desire. The rush of blood in Hermione’s ears was almost deafening. She questioned Fleur one last time with her eyes, one more chance to put a stop to this. The blonde licked her lips and nodded, and that was all she needed. Hermione pulled her into a quick kiss then dropped her hands to undo the top button of Fleur’s shirt.

“Show me,” whispered Hermione into the Veela’s mouth.

Fleur put her hands over Hermione’s which were still on her shirt and re-closed the distance between them, her lips soft and reverent, and she forgot the pain of their unresolved past. She let herself forget everything except the feeling of Fleur against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with this. Hope you liked this latest chapter. One more to go!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listen to a lot of music when I write but one song that seemed to fit my mood the most for this work was Feist's version of "Lover's Spit".
> 
> Also, sexual content ahead.

Chapter 9

_Hermione awoke from another nightmare, her mouth open in a silent scream, the wound on her arm throbbing as if the cuts had been freshly made. Before she could take the next breath that would allow her to expel her terror in a way that would have awakened the other occupants of Shell Cottage if there hadn't been a silencing charm, she felt an arm pull her close. That’s when she remembered that Fleur had gotten in the bed earlier that night when Hermione had trouble sleeping. The younger witch buried her face in Fleur's chest, her tears dampening the blonde's nightgown, but she calmed as she focused on the soothing fingers rubbing her back, feeling the worry emanating from the other witch. When she stopped crying, Fleur adjusted so that she was lying on her back and she pulled Hermione to her so that she rested her head on the Veela's shoulder. The proximity didn't embarrass her like it would have prior to Malfoy Manor. She found it comforting being nestled in the safety of the thrall surrounding her, and she threw an arm over Fleur's waist to further anchor herself to the woman who brought her back from the brink after every nightmare._

_"You will be fine, 'Ermione Granger," whispered Fleur. It was what she always said after Hermione had stopped crying. Or after any moment of self-doubt._

_"Do you promise?" Hermione wiped away the tears, angry at herself for falling apart in her dreams yet again. She thought she'd been doing well. She'd even gone outside on the dunes for the first time the previous morning where Fleur had held her shoulder, reassured her, and in that moment Hermione believed her. But now her doubt was resurfacing._

_"Oui, I promise. You 'ave so much to give this world, mon amie. You will come out of this stronger and I look forward to seeing it 'appen."_

_The Veela's confidence in her future made her want to cry again. It was so hard to see those things when the war was still ongoing. When they still hadn't destroyed all the horcruxes. But Fleur believed in her and Hermione held fast to it._

_Was Fleur her friend now or was this all they had? She wanted to ask but kept her mouth shut. If she survived this, if they both did, then Hermione would take steps to build this connection to friendship. The bookworm just couldn't imagine not having Fleur in her life. The thought of the blonde being hurt in any way made her hold more tightly to her._

_Fleur responded by pressing a soft kiss onto her forehead. Her lips lingered and Hermione felt a tug low in her belly. The sensation was unfamiliar to her; it brought her attention to how their bodies were pressed together, her leg slightly laying over Fleur's, and she wondered if she should put a more respectable distance between them. With her ear on Fleur's chest, she could hear how the blonde's heartrate accelerated but the thrall had lessened; she wasn’t sure what Fleur was feeling. Confused, she was about to ask if she had made her uncomfortable but as if Fleur could hear her thoughts, arms tightened around Hermione, not letting her pull away._

_"Try to rest, 'Ermione. You can 'elp me with breakfast in the morning."_

_Sufficiently distracted by the strong embrace and tomorrow's assigned task, Hermione closed her eyes and indulged in Fleur's softness._

Fleur pulled back slightly and without a word, waved her hand which turned off the main lights of the suite, leaving on only the reading light that was next to an armchair that sat beside the bed. Then she pulled Hermione back to her.

"Is that better?" asked the Veela between kisses.

"Perfect," replied Hermione. And it was. The rest of the room was dark but on the bed she could still see Fleur in the dim light, providing the more intimate atmosphere she wanted for this moment.

The Frenchwoman seemed hesitant, like she was waiting for Hermione to take the lead, so the brunette deepened the kiss, which quickly grew more passionate, a passion she had never felt until tonight. She had never felt the rush to be as close as possible to another person. Sex had been a thing that was tolerated; sometimes pleasant but never pleasurable in the ways she knew it should be. But now she hurtled towards it with abandon and raw need. Her first time with a woman, her first time with someone with whom she was in love.

They hurriedly undid the buttons of both of their shirts, pulling apart to remove them and then colliding together again, this time falling onto the bed. Moving back so that Hermione's head rested on a pillow, Fleur lay over her, nosing her neck, breathing her in like she would never get to again. The tendrils of her thrall clung to her, solid and strong, bright with the strength of the Veela's emotion. Blue eyes raked over her body and Hermione did not feel self-conscious at her scars staring back because she didn't see any pity in those eyes, only want and adoration.

With the strength and surprise of a flash flood, Hermione's hurt and anger came back again, scalding down her throat like she'd taken a gulp of too-hot-tea and the only thing she could do was breathe through it until it faded. Why had it taken this long to know Fleur wanted her? Feeling this, doing this, it was incredible, but she just couldn't pretend away her hurt or pretend she couldn't feel Fleur's pain beneath her desire, although it was more muted now that they'd both admitted to having wanted this for so long. The emotional pendulum she was on wouldn't stop swinging between agony and yearning, and logically she knew this meant it needed to be addressed but it was difficult to think with a Veela nibbling down her throat.

Fleur's movements were confident now. Hermione barely felt her skirt being unzipped and pulled down over her legs. Slender hands reached for her bra.

"You first," rasped Hermione, reaching for the front clasp of Fleur's bra. Her nervousness returned, worried over not being good enough. What if Fleur didn't like the way she touched her?

So wrapped up in her thoughts, her fingers lingered on the clasp without moving, and she didn't notice Fleur smiling at her.

"There isn't one way to do this, 'Ermione. Forget about what you've read and follow your instincts. We will discover the way together."

"Okay," she agreed. It sounded easy enough. But someone needed to pass the memo to her shaking hands. Because something else had just occurred to her. When Fleur had warned her that nothing would be hidden, Hermione knew she meant it would go both ways but she was distracted by her inner questions about what the Veela would reveal. Her thoughts glossed over what _she_ would be revealing to the blonde, and even when she'd admitted to her that she'd wanted this before she knew what it meant, it hadn't hit Hermione until now that Fleur was going to _feel_ the meaning underneath those words. Fleur was going to know everything she felt.

There was still time to stop this but Hermione knew she wouldn't. She told herself she was ready for her to know. And then maybe, after Fleur left her again, she could move on.

Fleur sat up and slowly removed her bra while keeping her eyes on the brunette, her expression both soft and fierce. Then she got off of the bed and removed her pants. Hermione stared at how perfect Fleur looked, her skin smooth and hers for the taking. When the woman rejoined her on the bed, Hermione sat up and brought a hand to her shoulder. Her fingers trembled at the silky feel of Fleur's bare skin, the collarbone under her thumb, the beauty marks on her neck and body that she wanted to kiss. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered wildly as she slid her hand down over the woman's chest and stopped just above her left breast, scared and uncertain. Summoning her courage, Hermione's hand lowered until she was cupping the blonde's breast, the hardened nipple pressing into the palm of her hand. There was no time to overthink this move because Fleur was now giving her a hard kiss.

Hermione's breathing quickened against the onslaught of Fleur's lips and teeth, which bit down her neck and she felt herself being pushed back down onto the bed. She squeezed the blonde's breast experimentally and smiled at the gasp Fleur let out. Then with her fingers she lightly pinched the nipple. The whimper she heard sent a flood of arousal through her body. Before she knew it, her own bra had been removed and they were now laying chest to chest, the only things separating them were their panties.

The weight of the Frenchwoman was so different than what she'd been used to. Hermione didn't like making comparisons to Ron but the difference was so glaring, she felt stupid for not figuring out her sexuality sooner. It wasn't just the softness of the other woman's breasts or her slender body slotting against her, it was the way being pressed down into a mattress felt like freedom instead of suffocation. It was actively seeking her kisses instead of turning away from them. It was feeling the shooting pleasure and swoop in her stomach when Fleur found a sensitive spot on her neck, so new and unfamiliar yet each time it was an affirmation that she wasn't frigid or any of those hurtful things he'd said to her in their worst moments.

Fleur moved like a flame and everywhere that she kissed consumed her and left a fire in its wake. Hot. Radiant. The burns branded across her body in a way she knew would not have happened with anyone else; not that girl from the club, not an anonymous escort. She felt this way because it was Fleur. It was only ever going to be Fleur.

The blonde moved lower and the brunette gasped as she felt a hot mouth close around one of her nipples, her other nipple being teased and pinched by Fleur's fingers. Hands moved to the blonde's head and started pulling the pins out to let down the hair out of its bun. She felt a smile over her breast.

"That will only get in the way later," murmured Fleur before biting softly on her nipple. Hermione blushed at the implication of those words, images floating in her mind of blonde hair spread out between her thighs.

"Don't care," she whispered in reply, burying her hands in Fleur's hair and pulling her closer.

The woman chuckled then trailed soft bites down the side of Hermione's abdomen, the loose tresses tickling her chest. The Veela's mouth felt so good and she hoped she would get to feel it everywhere. But she was determined for Fleur to be first. She would not be able to fully relax into this until she knew she could hold her own.

_::_

Fleur felt like she was in a blissful dream come true, feeling Hermione squirm beneath her, every breath felt against her skin sending electricity through her body. That Hermione had wanted her all this time was still a shock. Not just any woman, _her_. She had not allowed herself to fully believe that's what the list of preferences which Ginny shared had meant. But now… in every moment that passed she wanted to crumble in thankfulness that she could be with Hermione like this, in spite of her failings, in spite of everything she'd done to ruin any chance of this.

Hermione said to show her, and she wasn't just talking about sex. The witch wanted her to show her everything that she'd locked away, everything that she'd hidden and held back. And Fleur wanted to show her. She wanted to show her all of her love. And if what Hermione said was true, about her meaning something to the witch, then maybe they could rebuild what they lost and find a way to more.

"Fleur," breathed Hermione, and the blonde lifted her eyes to meet darkened brown ones. A hand against her chest pushing her. A part of her wanted to resist, the part that wasn't done exploring, but she could tell Hermione needed this control so Fleur let herself be rolled over onto her back. And when Hermione climbed over her, the desire in those eyes further ignited her arousal, and Fleur jolted her hips upward, needing to feel all of the brunette's body against hers.

"Fleur," the bookworm said again before diving forward to kiss along Fleur's shoulder. "Just so we're clear, you're not really an escort, right?"

The Veela moaned in response to a nip just under her ear and gasped out, "I'm sorry. I didn't come 'ere to lie like that but you were so cold and I panicked." Fleur was worried her answer would bring back the woman's anger but it was the truth and Hermione deserved as much of the truth as she could give.

Hermione huffed into her neck and muttered, "Ginny's idea to come?"

"Oui," Fleur breathed, groaning louder when Hermione nipped the same spot a little harder, followed by a tongue licking along her jawline.

"I'm going to hex her the next time I see her."

The brunette quickly sat up and then grabbed at the waistband of Fleur's panties, breathing hard while saying, "And then I'll thank her."

Fleur smiled and bit her lip, observing the deep breaths the other witch took to work up her nerve. She lifted her hips slightly which encouraged the brunette to begin pulling them off. After she did, the woman stopped and stared down at her with an expression that was a mixture of amazement and self-doubt.

"You're beautiful,” the younger witch whispered.

When Hermione still didn't move, Fleur took her hands and gently pulled her down until she was laying between her legs. The Veela ran her hands over the witch's hair, softly kissing her and letting her thrall show Hermione how comfortable she was in this. That this was exactly where she wanted to be.

Whatever panic had overtaken the woman disappeared, and she spoke. "I just want you to feel good, Fleur."

"I already do. Because it's you."

_::_

Hermione smiled and kissed the blonde, moving down to suck along her collarbone, until she could feel the slick between Fleur's legs against her lower stomach. She pushed forward slightly and heard a sharp gasp. Breathing hard, the brunette took a nipple in her mouth and licked roughly as her hands moved to Fleur's hips, gripping them tightly. She continued like that for several minutes, enjoying the sweet taste of the blonde’s skin and taking her time to mark her breasts with small bites. It wasn't until Fleur grabbed her hand and pushed it slightly towards her center that Hermione understood where she needed to go next.

A shudder moved through her body as she made a light pass over Fleur's sex with her hand, feeling the woman's wetness seep out of her folds when her fingers slid through seeking her entrance. The brunette gasped at the heat on her fingers and the heat of the thrall. Raising herself up so that she could look down on Fleur's face, she waited until the Veela gave a quick nod, at which Hermione pushed one and then two fingers inside. So hot. So, so hot. Hermione's heart pounded and she felt dizzy. To center herself, she directed some of her focus to Fleur's hands on her back.

"Are you all right, chérie?" asked Fleur, her voice husky with her arousal.

"Yes, I… Fleur, you feel…" Hermione stammered, at a loss as to how to express herself without sounding like such a novice.

Fleur lifted her head and kissed her, deep and wet, then said against her lips, "Move your fingers."

Nodding, she slowly moved her fingers in and out and gradually lost herself in Fleur's moans and heat, the warmth in the thrall becoming hotter with every thrust. After a while, one of Fleur's hands moved down between them and guided her exploration, drawing out Hermione's fingers and moving them up to her clit, demonstrating the movements she liked, then leading her fingers back inside. Fleur also used her words, always encouraging, either vocalizing approval or suggesting an adjustment, which built up Hermione's confidence to move past the newness of it and focus on matching the verbal cues with how she was touching her. When Hermione nodded her readiness to take over, Fleur let go and brought her hand to the brunette's shoulder.

This was so much better than she imagined it would be. She loved how responsive Fleur was, and Hermione memorized everything so that those alluring sounds wouldn't stop. She took note of what happened when the heel of her palm hit just right and she moved her thumb to see what pressure and touches made Fleur scream. Hermione had planned to take her time to more thoroughly explore the intricacies of Fleur's pleasure but then the Veela spoke.

"'Ermione, please… please no more teasing," whispered Fleur.

Hermione did not want to disappoint her and settled into a pace and pressure that drew her favorite reactions out of the Veela. The thrall swirled around her now, a flurry of varied emotions, but Hermione's focus was on what she was physically doing so she filtered through the thrall and zeroed in on how it let her know Fleur was enjoying herself, chasing her pleasure but still giving control to the brunette. She glanced at her other hand which gripped the sheet beside Fleur's head, she saw the faint orange glow change to a faint red. Hermione was lucky the aura only showed up on her hands; it would have been extremely embarrassing if the whole of her lit up like a glow stick. It was still surprising to see it in an aroused state and not just during climax but perhaps her heightened emotions were contributing to that. Her experiments with masturbation taught her the glow stayed faint no matter the intensity of her orgasm, but the colors did change. Red used to be a typical result. But after she realized how she felt about Fleur and women, incorporating the blonde into her fantasies produced purples and occasionally white.

She increased the pace, her arm feeling hot with the effort, but Fleur's cries and whimpers told her she couldn't stop. The blonde's hips met every thrust with force and her fingers dug into her back so hard she could feel her blunt fingernails.

When Fleur finally came, she felt the clenching around her fingers and the velvety squeeze of the thrall around her. The brunette smiled, feeling happy and a bit smug at the gorgeous sight of Fleur undone by her hand. Hermione knew enough to slow her movements to bring Fleur back down from her high but what surprised her was how quickly Fleur recovered; the woman growled and pushed until Hermione was on her back, her underwear swiftly pulled off. The Veela then spread open her legs and trailed a finger down her body, starting at her mouth, down her chest and stomach, and through her center.

"Tu es si mouillée, 'Ermione," said Fleur under her breath, her fingers moving slowly and avoiding more sensitive areas. And just when Hermione thought Fleur would finally get to it, the blonde moved her hand upward, over her stomach and back to her breasts, squeezing gently before leaning forward. Adjusting so that she straddled one of Hermione's thighs, Fleur lay over her and pressed unhurried kisses along her neck and jaw, occasionally moving the leg that was between her legs, which came close to giving the brunette the friction she needed but not close enough. Feeling the wetness of the other woman on her thigh made her wonder if she could hurry Fleur along in her own way but when she moved her thigh upwards it only earned her an appreciative moan and no change to the woman's touches and kisses.

When it didn't seem like Fleur would give her what she wanted, Hermione whined, "I thought you said no teasing."

Fleur lifted her head, met her eyes, and didn't even try to hide her satisfied smirk. "Consider this part of tonight's lesson. When you 'ave a woman at your fingertips, willingly giving 'erself to you, drawing it out and making her beg en'ances the pleasure for you both. It takes a while to learn your partner's limits but practice makes perfect, non?"

Hermione whimpered in reply. Her hopes rose when the Frenchwoman trailed a hand down her body, only to be dashed when the hand settled over her hip.

"But also…" And this time the Veela's voice was low, the flirtatious tone gone. "I've waited a long time for this, 'Ermione. I want to touch and taste every part of you."

Another hand pinched and kneaded at Hermione's breast before being replaced by the blonde's wet mouth, leading Hermione to moan and gasp at every tug and lick, giving herself up to sensation. Fleur's touch at first glance might have appeared languid and done without concentration, yet the tingle of the thrall told Hermione that the Veela was intently focused on her and her responses. The woman's mouth blazed a trail down her body, bites and open-mouthed kisses dragged all the way down to her toes. For a couple of seconds, she had felt a tongue swipe through her center and Hermione arched towards her, needing her to continue, but Fleur only sighed a quiet 'not yet' and kept moving. When she finished mapping her frontside, Fleur flipped her over so she could do the same going up her backside, her hot tongue increasing Hermione’s impatience for more. She tried to take matters into her own hands but Fleur pulled her hand away, flipped her again so that she lay on her back, and warned her not to do that again. It was frustrating and titillating and Hermione loved every second of it.

She had dreamed of this. She'd imagined Fleur touching her, wanting her, and to feel it now for real brought a sting to her eyes.

Hermione blinked it away and bit her lip, trying not to do what Fleur was waiting for but in the end she succumbed and begged repeatedly for the woman to take her. It seemed at first that Fleur would listen and her touch became firmer. A hand drifted down to her center, making her almost weep in anticipation, but again she was denied as the explorations avoided her entrance and clit. However, she could feel her body being wound up like a spring. She twisted and arched under Fleur's touch and kisses, feeling the tension inside coil tight and on the verge of snapping.

Reaching her limit, she grabbed the back of Fleur's neck, and pulled her into a rough kiss. But Fleur would not be rushed. The blonde slowed it down and patiently sucked and bit her lower lip even as her fingers began to lazily circle her clit, driving her wild but only taking her to the edge then backing away.

It was only when Fleur finally seemed satisfied that Hermione was completely at her mercy that her touches became filled with intent.

"Inside?" Fleur asked in a raspy voice.

At Hermione's nod, Fleur entered her with two fingers. She nearly came right then, so palpable was her relief. Raising her hands to Fleur's face, she saw the faint purple glow on them as she swiped a thumb across the Veela's mouth, pulling her face towards her.

"I can feel you," panted Fleur, thrusting slowly into Hermione. "The colors, I don't need to see to know. I can feel 'ow good this feels to you."

Hermione couldn't respond, her attention was on Fleur inside her and she never wanted this feeling to end. She turned her head to the side and Fleur's face buried into her neck. Their sweat-covered bodies slid against her each other perfectly. It was slow and gentle but Hermione was still overwhelmed by every sensation moving through her and at the same time it was not enough. Her hands gripped the backs of Fleur's shoulders, feeling herself so close to the edge, and as if reading her mind, Fleur used her thumb where she needed her most.

All thought left her as she came apart at last, crying out Fleur's name, her aura glowing white as waves of pleasure pulsed through her. But Fleur didn't stop. The older witch wrapped an arm around Hermione's back and with surprising strength, pulled her up until she was straddling the blonde, slender fingers still inside her. Instinctively, Hermione wrapped her arms around Fleur's shoulders to help keep them both upright.

The brunette could barely catch her breath but she still ground against Fleur's hand, hurrying after her second release. Her head fell forward and she pressed her forehead into Fleur's shoulder with her eyes closed, hearing the Veela's gasps for air near her ear. The thrall was hotter than it had been minutes ago, more heady, more possessive, and it seemed to be opening up even more. She hadn't really been focusing on it before, so distracted by her own pleasure, but now she felt it pulling at her and she felt her own magic reaching out as well. Hermione could feel it inside, clutching around her heart, feeling cherished, adored, protected. The thrall swirled in time with her racing heartbeat, and Fleur's heart sounded in her ears, too, beating in unison with her own. Weaving itself with the thrall, her magic melded so fully with it that the seams disappeared. It was no longer just sensing Fleur's emotions through the thrall, it was feeling them inside her. And tears stung her eyes again at what she could now feel coming from Fleur. She could feel it. She could feel it all.

_Nothing will be hidden._

Pushing back, they locked eyes, still moving together but too stunned to do anything else but stare. Fleur's expression was full of awe and surrender, the depths of her blue eyes drawing her in like whatever pain they were clinging to didn't matter. Joy flowed through Fleur's body, and she knew it was because the woman could feel the love the bookworm had for her. A love Hermione was just now realizing was shared.

She thought she'd been prepared for this. She was convinced she was ready to share her heart so she could move on. And she had suspected Fleur felt more than attraction for her but she had no idea how it would feel to have her suspicions confirmed or for how it would feel for Fleur's emotions to literally move through her. And the sheer magnitude and breadth of the woman's love knocked the wind out of her.

Hermione caught the Veela's lips in a messy kiss. She didn't want the woman to say the words. She wasn't ready. Oh Merlin, she wasn't ready.

Fleur curled her fingers and Hermione was helpless to the pleasure of it. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, feeling Fleur's mouth latch onto her neck.

"Je t'aime, 'Ermione," Fleur breathed in a thick voice. "Je t'aime."

Hermione's eyes flew open and she could no longer blink the stinging away. Burning tears fell in elation and bitterness. She had felt it but to hear it out loud, her heart hammered, tearing the frayed stitches she'd used to patch herself together in order to keep functioning after Fleur left that last time.

Grinding her hips harder against Fleur, her cries became a combination of moans and wet gasps. She saw tears fall from Fleur's eyes, too, and she shook her head, squeezing the woman with her arms and with her thighs. It was coming. Not just a sexual release but a release of everything she'd been holding inside. And she could do nothing to stop it.

Her body tensed and she bit down hard on the blonde's shoulder; when her orgasm washed over her, her aura again glowed white, and her pleasure was accompanied by soul-wrenching sobs.

How did she not know? How did she not know Fleur Delacour loved her?

Hands gripped the woman's back to hold her close but to also make sure she was real, that this was all real.

"You left!" cried Hermione suddenly, her body collapsing against Fleur, barely noticing that the Veela's fingers were no longer inside her. But Fleur didn't let go, she held her up in a tight embrace.

Her magic pulled back, still intertwined with the thrall but not as seamless as it was before. Hermione was overcome by their connection, by what she felt in the woman's thrall, and by a growing anger at what she now realized was the real reason for Fleur's abandonment. It was too much. It was infuriating. It was maddening. She clawed at the blonde, her words tumbling between heaving breaths.

"You loved me and you left! How could you do that? How could you do that to me?!"

"I thought you loved ‘im, I thought I was doing the right thing!" explained Fleur between sobs of her own, her voice almost hysterical, pleading for understanding.

Growling through her tears, she pushed and pulled at Fleur's shoulders, unable to hide her devastation.

"Fuck you, you could've told me. Instead of making me feel like you were never my friend. Instead of making me ache for you ever since that night. I fucking ached for you."

Breaking wide open, Hermione felt herself untethered, and it was only Fleur's arms holding her together. Her sobs grew louder.

"I fell in love with you, Fleur, and you left me. You were gone. You didn't even write."

She cried and she screamed, lamenting at their lost time and at all the ways Fleur had broken her. And still Fleur held on, crying with her. The warmth of the thrall grew at her confession, at her love being verbalized at last, but Fleur finding any reason to be happy right now only enraged Hermione. The Veela laid her back down against the bed and showered her face with kisses, wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop falling.

"I was a coward. When you got engaged I realized I was attracted to you and I thought the only way I could stop it was to stay away. Because _I was married_." The blonde emphasized those last words through gritted teeth, as if it was all the explanation Hermione needed. Then she continued, speaking quickly as if afraid Hermione wouldn't let her get the words out. "But my feelings didn't go away. The night of the party I realized it wasn't just attraction, that I was in love, but I thought it was 'opeless because _you_ _were married_. I ran. I didn't know what else to do. But I shouldn't 'ave left like that. I know that now. Forgive me. Please, forgive me."

Fleur made to roll off of her but Hermione held on tighter, needing her close. The blonde settled back on top of her, wiped more of her tears away, and whispered, "I do love you, 'Ermione. I moved back 'ere for you. I should've written. I should've done so many things. I love you. I love you."

"Fleur…" Hermione breathed, staring up into Fleur's tear-filled eyes and hearing the truth in her words but it wasn't enough to placate her. "Fleur, you let me go."

She became frantic again in her movements, seeing only that stricken look on Fleur's face before she ran from her at the Burrow, and kept repeating some version of 'you let me go' until the blonde grabbed her hands and pinned them down beside her head to get her attention.

"Non, jamais. I left but I never let you go, 'Ermione. Je ne te lacherai jamais."

The Frenchwoman's words were urgent, desperate, and she peppered more kisses over Hermione's face. The brunette stopped fighting it and let the kisses soothe the anguish and anger within. Fleur sensed this and released her hands, which slowly raked up the blonde's back to pull her closer. And as emotionally fraught as Hermione was, her arousal grew at the love and care that Fleur was showing her.

_::_

The Veela should've anticipated an emotional upheaval when she confessed her love. It had been done on instinct, though. In their moment of joining she had felt Hermione's heart and it left her breathless and weak. It was everything she had ever hoped for and what she thought she'd never have. Hermione could feel her love, too, and she couldn't hold back the words. She told her even though she could also feel the echoes of the younger witch's heartbreak which caused her own heart to crack anew, regret slicing through her at the impact of her past actions. She deserved all of the woman's recrimination, and even though it pained her to see Hermione so distressed after she confessed her love, she knew the woman needed to unleash her hurt like this. So, she held on, supporting her, giving the woman her strength so she could cry and hate her as much as she needed to. Because as angry as the witch was, she knew Hermione still loved her, and even though she wasn't forgiven and may never be, there was hope like she had never felt it and it gave her the resolve to push forward and keep fighting for her love.

Fleur hadn't intended in the aftermath for her kisses of comfort to lead to more. It was the sight of Hermione beginning to drown in her doubt that made Fleur want to surround her with love. But now Fleur was on her back and her comfort was being returned with a hunger so intense that she was in a losing battle against the desire building inside of her. The reasons for the escalation likely included avoidance, they had a mountain of baggage to sift through after all, but the truth was she also needed this reassurance. She needed to know Hermione still wanted her now that she knew why she'd destroyed their friendship. However, her conscience buzzed in the back of her mind that they couldn't avoid discussing things forever.

Just thinking about the brunette's love made her blood sing in happiness and she moaned into Hermione's mouth, one arm around the brunette's waist, the other tangled in the hair at the back of her head, enjoying the feeling of the witch on top of her. But when Hermione started to grind herself down on her thigh, Fleur was again torn.

Breaking from the kiss, she asked in panting breaths, "Maybe we should slow down? Talk?"

Hermione responded by sliding her hand down to between Fleur's legs. The Veela groaned, unable to resist and pushed herself into the hand.

"We will, but not right now," breathed Hermione. They kissed again, Hermione licking into her mouth like she could do it for hours.

Fleur gave in and rolled them over. She looked down into her eyes and said, "D'accord."

Her response earned a smile but a flash of worry shot through her at what flitted across Hermione’s face. There was desire but also a hardness. It dampened some of her confidence that they would be able to work past this. But then Hermione pulled her into another kiss, this one so full of passion that Fleur lost herself to it. She reminded herself that they loved each other. They would work through this turmoil. They had to.

*::::*

Later, when physical and emotional exhaustion could no longer be ignored, Hermione and Fleur lay together awake and silent in their thoughts. The brunette lay on her back with the blonde draped over her possessively, her head on the bookworm's chest and an arm wrapped over her as if she were afraid Hermione would disappear. The thrall was warm so Fleur was not unhappy but it was also restless, roiling in choppy waves. She knew Fleur was thinking about what happened and what it all meant. But the woman was giving her time with her own thoughts, just as she did when they had cuddled like this after her nightmares at Shell Cottage.

Hermione traced vague shapes with her fingers along the Frenchwoman's back, slightly pushing down the sheet that was covering them until it reached Fleur's waist, comforted by her skin even as her thoughts drifted. Initiating another round of sex after her breakdown earlier had been a delay tactic. But her anger kept wanting to lash out, and Fleur's kisses and care calmed her. She wanted to keep feeling that love so she took it and the other woman gave her everything she demanded. Fleur unraveled all and laid herself bare. While she was catching her breath after the Veela had pulled a powerful release from her with her mouth, Hermione finally felt it. She felt the woman's heart call out to hers and felt her despair at getting no answer in return. Hermione then remembered she wasn't the only one that was hurting, she wasn't the only one whose heart rent into shreds at their fallout and final parting. But she had looked inward at her own hurt and held back her love while Fleur continued to show and give all of hers. A knot formed in her throat at her selfishness, and as complicated as this whole thing was she didn't want Fleur to think for one second longer that this was one-sided. So, Hermione let her heart answer her love's call.

She'd pulled Fleur to her and kissed her in a way that demanded nothing. Gentle. Comforting. An acknowledgement of what they'd revealed and felt. Fleur's resulting smile made the brunette's heart swell. And once she had started giving, she couldn't stop. Hermione was skittish at first but one by one her defenses fell until she was giving all of her love, her fears, her need. Using everything she'd learned, she kissed, touched, licked, and made love to the woman in her arms until she felt Fleur's heart burst and her happiness break free. Until they laughed and cried and tenderly made love again. Until they could do nothing but hold each other and bask in their hearts' entanglement and the joining of magic and thrall.

And now in the quiet stillness, sated in the knowledge of their love, Hermione's mind kept working, examining what happened in the past given this new information. The bookworm saw things she had missed, the conversations that had been on the cusp of revealing to one or both of them that their friendship had crossed over into love. They had fallen in love with each other and both had been blind to the other's feelings until now.

She finally understood. Fleur's honor, her views on marriage. How Fleur had behaved all made sense. While her friend still could've said something, could have at least said she had developed feelings that meant she needed to step away from their friendship, Hermione knew the other witch wouldn't have acted on it, not while either of them was married. But she also had to be honest with herself. What would Hermione have done? What if Fleur had said something when she got engaged? Would her heart have been ready to accept it or would she have confusedly supported Fleur's decision to step away and married Ron anyway? She could be married to him now and might never have realized her heart's true desire.

 _All right_ , Hermione concluded, _not before I was ready._ That left the New Year's Eve party. Fleur could've told her then. The woman also could have replied to her letters and offered some kind of explanation. On the other hand, Hermione could’ve done something, too. She could've forced a confrontation after Fleur stopped meeting her for lunches or after Fleur started avoiding her at the Burrow. Or she could've chased after her to France after she moved back there. But Hermione hadn't done any of those things.

At this, Hermione inhaled and released a cleansing breath. Dwelling on what should have been done, on the what if's, and on all of their missed opportunities would only keep her wounds open and cause them to fester. Not dwelling didn't mean she had to avoid the past or her hurt, though. What it meant was that now that the floodgates had opened on her bottled-up emotions, there was hope that she could confront and get closure on that past without being so overwhelmed by it.

"Did I ever tell you that I could always tell when your mind was ready to rest?" Fleur asked quietly, a fond amusement in her tone.

Hermione snorted and turned so her lips touched the top of Fleur's head. "Oh?"

"You take a breath, like you're closing a book and looking to move to the next thing. It's very endearing."

The brunette's heart fluttered at the observation. What other things had Fleur noticed about her and not said?

"Has it really been since I was engaged?" asked Hermione gently, still wondering how she'd missed those early signs.

"Oui," whispered Fleur without hesitation. "But as I said, I didn't know it was love then. And I think… I know… it started before that."

"For me, too. I think I've loved you since Shell Cottage."

Hermione felt Fleur's arms squeeze her more firmly, her thrall warming in response but underneath there was that sharp prickliness; a tiny fear troubled the Veela.

"What ‘appens now?" Fleur asked, her voice small.

She didn't answer right away. Hermione reminded herself that Fleur had already made her intentions clear: she moved back to London for her. It was Hermione's decision now on where to go from here. There were many hard conversations ahead of them but Hermione wanted to believe they could find a way.

"Maybe we could start with my inviting you out for coffee?"

Fleur raised her head to look at her, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Oui, I would like that very much."

The Veela's voice was heavy with so many things still unsaid and her piercing blue eyes told Hermione she would eventually say them all.

"Good," Hermione replied quietly.

Her arms went around Fleur's back, pulling her close and the blonde laid her head on her shoulder, burying her face into her neck.

"We will be fine, Fleur Delacour."

Fleur let out a wet laugh.

"Do you promise?"

She felt Fleur’s full lips stretch in a wide smile before pressing a lingering kiss over the tears that had fallen on Hermione's neck. The tension released from Veela's body as the thrall wrapped itself around the two of them, showing her confidence, love, and trust. There was still a twinge of doubt but Hermione had that, too, and it was okay. The fact that they both felt it meant they both knew how fragile this was and that they would need to work to strengthen it.

A tear trailed down Hermione's face as she felt the love in Fleur's thrall surround her. Soft, steady, true. Comforting her, reassuring her, telling her that the blonde was taking the leap with her, wherever it would lead. It burrowed in her heart and rooted itself deep. Yes. She would do anything to keep this. She was in love and she could now express that love. Neither of them knew what was going to happen but a chance was all they needed to be happy, and they were going to take and hold onto it together.

"Oui," whispered Hermione. "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me on this story, for all the kudos, comments, and subs. You all rock. It had more emotional turmoil than I thought it would have at the start but sometimes stories take on lives of their own. It was fun (and agonizing) to write and I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. Thanks again.
> 
> Tu es si mouillée = you’re so wet  
> Je ne te lacherai jamais = I’ll never let you go


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